The War To End All Wars
by Dark Satirist
Summary: Au. Sam and Dean meet in a war zone and become good friends. However, the dangers of war aren't only mythical, even to these two reckless yahoos. When an explosion sends them out on their own, they must forget about keeping secrets from one another to liv
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural _or any of its characters. They belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. **

**Author's Note: I'm debating whether or not to make this an extremely long one-shot, a shorter but still long three-shot, or a multi-chapter fic. I already have just about all of it written, so I'm going to poll the audience. What do you think I should do?**

**Author's Note 2: I've had this idea forever, ever since I wrote _Fallen Hero _and read gothraven89's _Soldier Boy_. I wanted to do an AU of _Supernatural_ where Sam and Dean met during a war and became extremely good friends. The story kind of built from there, until I had this scene that climaxed everything, Dean found out some really dark things about Sam, and Sam found out some really dark things about Dean. I also wanted to incorporate the other hunters that showed up in _Supernatural_, which will crop up randomly through-out the chapters, parts, or one-shot (vote via PM or poll). So, I sat down this weekend and did nothing but write this idea out. It turned out to be the easiest fanfic I have _ever_ written. I also think it's one of my better ones, but you guys will have to tell me if you agree on that aspect of it. **

**Author's Note 3: Due to some complications, a couple of forgotten passwords, a few curse words, some arguing, and some tears, Supernatural Nightmare has decided to quit writing FanFiction. However, she has told me that I have full rights to _Of Werewolves and Demons_ (the _Supernatural/One Tree Hill_ fanfic she was writing) and that I could post it whenever I wanted. Also, she has also told me that I can also have _The Host _and _Storm of the Century_ if I really wanted to. I'm going to think long and hard before I agree to post anything. If any of her fans have any preferences, or if you guys do, please feel free to tell me. **

**Author's Note 4/5 (combined Author's note, seeing as I'm running out of space): One thing I wanted to change about my writing was the amount of cussing I used in it. I tried to limit myself to only a handful of cuss words in this story, knowing it was already going to be rated T with violence and didn't need it to be bumped up to M due to excessive language. However, that didn't work out too well. I typed maybe a page and a half (the first half of this chapter) before I gave up and started using a lot of language. The result: this story is now bumped up to M. Another point I wanted to mention was that this story is rated M for another reason (my friend, Supernatural Nightmare gave me this idea). I was thinking up of a really dark past for Sam and was originally going to have him come from a family of hunters, but SNN gave me the idea to have him abused as a child, but still be this really amazing, wonderful guy and everything. So, this is the result. Hope you all enjoy! Also... one last thing... this is taking place during a random war... not really sure which, but instead of showing how little I actually know about war, I decided to just make it up as I go along. I don't have any use of the rankings or war jargon in here. Don't kill me!!**

**Read and review, please! That's the only payment I wish to recieve from this story.**

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**Supernatural**

**"The War To End All Wars"**

**Chapter 1**

Twenty-three year old Samuel James Winchester finished his final push-up and sprang to his feet, wiping the dirt off of his olive green shirt as he did so. It was already ninety degrees and the day had barely started. He shuddered to think of what the middle of the day would bring, when bullets started flying and the thermostat was cranked up another twenty notches.

Beside him, two other men sprang to their feet. Their names were Dean Jonathan Richardson and Robert Singer, Samuel's two good friends in their infantry. The three of them were fondly called the three musketeers by the captain and their fellow soldiers. They were as close as brothers and often acted like such; playing practical jokes on each other and always trying to get the last laugh. They got away with such things because when it came down to it, those three were the life and soul of the outfit. They were the most daring, the bravest, and the riskiest. It was why they were always out in the thick of things, trying to save as many lives as they could and why they always succeeded.

"You okay, there, old man?" Samuel asked his friend, Robert, teasingly. Robert, or Bobby as he was so fondly known as, was the oldest and shortest of the three. He was twenty-nine, with hair that was going prematurely gray and bright blue eyes that were almost always laughing. He was a well-trained soldier and he was as strong as an ox. He had gone to MIT, where he had graduated with top honors before joining the army, much to his family's chagrin. He hadn't spoken to said family in over two years and it had always been a sore spot for him. Samuel and Dean always stuck up for him whenever someone took to insulting their older friend.

"Shut up, Sammy," Bobby growled, glaring up at Samuel, or Sammy, as he was known as to Dean and Bobby. Samuel, or most of the time just Sam, was the youngest and tallest of the three. At twenty-three, he was just over six-foot four with brown hair that had once been shaggy until he shaved it and the world's most soulful brown eyes. He came from a family of Marines, though he made one of the best soldiers the army had ever seen. His father, Jonathan Winchester, had been a Corporal in the Marine Corps, his grandfather a Sergeant, and his late mother, a Private. He had broken away from the mold, joining the army instead of the corps after graduating from Stanford. Both things had pissed off his abusive father to no end and Sam had run away from home nearly two and a half years ago to join the army after his father had threatened him with certain death if he ever returned. Sam still had yet to mention this to either of his friends. He didn't want them to know. Sam was one of the kindest people anyone would ever meet. He always put everyone else in front of himself and never complained. He also took injury without complaint and hid it well, something only Dean Richardson could master him in. Sam had been taught by his abusive father that to show pain meant more pain until he could hide it. It was one of the several lessons Sam had mastered in his household growing up.

"Dude, its Sam!" Dean inserted, stretching one arm lazily over the other. Dean was the dead middle of the group. He was twenty-seven years old, six foot two, had dirty blonde hair, and hazel eyes. He had come from a quiet household, had a wife named Cassie back in the States, and a daughter on the way. He listened to 80s rock music religiously, made the worst jokes ever, ate like food was going out of style, and was as protective of his friends as a mother bear of her cubs. Everyone nicknamed him 'Mama Bear' because of his fierce protectiveness, especially towards Sam. The first day they had arrived, there had been a pretty serious exchange of bullets. Sam had nearly been struck with what would have been a fatal shot, but Dean, the idiot, had taken it for Sam. Luckily, Dean had only been hit in the shoulder and Sam had managed to drag the older man off the field in time to save his life. It was the start of a serious friendship between the two, which only grew stronger the more time they spent together.

"You call him Sammy all the time," Bobby pointed out as the three of them headed to the tent they shared. It hadn't always been the three of them sharing a tent; only when every other soldier in the outfit had gotten fed up with their jokes were they allowed to share the same tent.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean said, ignoring the older man as Sam yanked open the door to their tent. A jolt of pain shot up his arm for a brief second; a reminder of a long ago injury that his father had inflicted. Dean seemed to catch the slightest movement Sam made to cover it up as they walked inside.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Bobby announced loudly. Sam moved to collect his shower things as well, not really wanting to talk to Dean. He had seen the look on Dean's face and knew that Dean was probably going to question him about it.

"That sounds like a fabulous idea, Singer," Dean said, stretching again. "You stink like cow manure."

"And you smell like such fresh roses yourself," Bobby retorted, grabbing his towel and smacking Dean lightly on the hand. Turning to Sam, he added, "There's fifty bucks in it for you if you manage to get Richardson to shower before tomorrow."

With a grin and a duck from the flying pillow missile that Dean sent his way, Bobby ducked out of the tent, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

"You okay?" Dean asked, as Sam winced again when he moved to pick up his towel.

"I'm just trying to breathe through this awful stench," Sam joked, covering up his old injury well and trying to repress the memories of the hunting knife coming at him as well. "Bobby's right, you do stink."

"Bull shit," Dean growled. Sam turned, alarmed that he had been found out after all. But the smile on Dean's face took that away. "Singer's just trying to cover up how awful he smells."

"Are you seriously sitting there telling me that you smell amazing yourself?" Sam questioned, giving up the idea of a shower. There would be time later; there was a letter for him from his girlfriend, Jessica Moore, laying on his cot. The mail carrier must have been there.

"I don't smell that bad!" Dean protested, flopping on his cot and picking up a small brown envelope. It was from Cassie; Sam could pick out the hand writing from a mile away. _There goes Dean for the rest of the night,_ he thought. Every time Dean received a letter from his wife, he was always in a loud, boisterous mood, where no one could ever say two words to him. He always ended up drunk and telling Sam how pretty he thought the taller man was, because Sam was the only one who would put up with a drunken Dean.

"Please," Sam said, flopping on his bed as well. "I've smelled garbage dumps that smell better then you."

He picked up the envelope, glad that he had successfully avoided any serious questioning from Dean. Dean was always the one who would pick up on Sam's moods and hurts, even when Sam thought he was doing a pretty good job of hiding them. It was scary how alert the older man was. It was also what made him one of the best damn soldiers Sam had ever met.

Dean merely grunted in reply, ripping open his letter and scanning the first couple sentences of the letter. A scowl settled across his face, one that Sam read easily. Dean was good at reading Sam, but Sam was better at reading Dean.

"What's up?" Sam asked, though he could guess. It had something to do with the words Cassie's father and baby.

"Cassie's father," Dean grunted. "Wants Cassie to move out of the house we built together and have the baby in Vermont, to be closer to them."

Sam hid his smirk as his thought process proved to be accurate.

"And what does Cassie say?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Cassie was as stubborn and determined as Dean, which was why they went so well together. Cassie probably told her father to go jump off a cliff, only in a little more eloquent speech.

Dean's scowl turned into a smirk.

"Dude, why do you even bother asking if you already know the answers? Seriously, I can _hear_ your smirk over here!"

"It's more fun to hear how right I am," Sam retorted, his smirk growing more pronounced as he dodged the pillow Dean sent flying his way.

"Give college boy a cookie! He is always right!" Dean said, laughing as Sam merely rolled his eyes. Even though both Dean and Bobby also went to college, they were always teasing Sam about going to Stanford and graduating only two years prior.

"Can I get that last part on tape?" Sam asked, laughing as well as he opened his own letter. He picked Dean's pillow off the ground and added it to his own behind his head. He had quite the collection; people kept chucking pillows at him, expecting him to give them back. _Stupid people,_ he thought to himself, settling down on his cot and unfolding Jessica's letter.

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Short and sweet... mostly an introduction chapter. Tell me what you think!! Also, tell me what you want me to do with this story chapter-wise. Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making off of this story is the wonderful reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: I would like to thank the three people who reviewed my story and would like to dedicate this chapter to them.**

**Author's Note 2: Because I love this story and already have almost all of it finished, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 2. However, I will more than likely start posting on weekends from now on… just because I don't get on FanFiction every day. I will update as often as possible. **

**Continue reading and reviewing, please!! Also, I decided to go ahead and make this a multi-chapter fanfic. **

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Supernatural

**"****The War To End All Wars****"**

**Chapter 2**

Two hours later, the sun was baking the dry earth at over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Sweat was pouring off of those who worked too hard and those who even sat in the shade doing nothing. All thoughts of joking were a distant past as Sam, Bobby, and Dean lead the way down a deserted pathway in the city. Behind them, two other soldiers followed, not wanting to lose sight of the three leaders.

"Dude, I do not like this," Sam whispered quietly to Dean. "It's too quiet."

"I don't like it either," Dean whispered back as Bobby took a step forward. There was a slight _click_ and everyone froze.

"Whatever you do, Singer, don't move a muscle," Sam ordered, just as a burst of machine gun fire went off.

"Take cover!" one of the other two men yelled, ducking behind one of the buildings. Dean and Sam shared anxious glances, not wanting to leave their friend behind to a certain death.

The bullets flew closer.

"Dean, go! I'll get Bobby out!" Sam yelled over the sounds of gunshots.

"You're crazy!" Dean yelled back. "I'm staying here and helping you!"

Sam glared at his friend for a moment while Bobby just stood there.

"You two idjits want to stand there arguing all day or do you want to help me?" he demanded. "Winchester, you hold the grenade in place, while you, Richardson, clip the wire. Hurry up and by god; do not make a false move! If we all go up in smoke, I swear I'm coming back and shooting buckshot up your asses!"

"Yes sir!" Sam and Dean chorused, getting to work instantly and with two years of experience of doing such things.

If Sam ever had doubts about going to war to spite his father, now was the time he thought about them. Saving a friend's life from a fucking grenade while machine guns are going off all around you with several people dead intent on killing you was one way to make one question his decision to do something. Another was holding said fucking grenade while all the while thinking that if Dean made one false cut, Sam was definitely going to bite it. And yet another doubt was the fact that he couldn't throw the grenade fast enough and the whole thing would blow up and kill them all.

"You ready to throw that piece of shit, Winchester?" Dean called over the rattle of machine gun fire that was now increasing its tempo.

"Hell yeah, Richardson!" Sam yelled back, a smirk settling onto his face. All doubts were out of his head now. He was focused on the one task of tossing the grenade and running for it, bullets be damned.

"Then let's do this thing!" Dean shouted. Sam could tell from the sound of his friend's voice that he was feeling just as reckless as Sam was at that moment. It was what made them so deadly; they didn't give a damn in the thick of things. They did what they had to, without fear, without thought. Both of them had been yelled at on more than one occasion by the company's leader for being reckless, mindless yahoos that were only not being court marshaled for disobeying direct orders because they were such damn good soldiers.

"Watch out!" Bobby yelled to Sam, just as the bullets were turned in their direction. One narrowly missed Dean's arm, while another grazed Sam's arm.

"Damn it, Richardson, hurry up!" Sam shouted to his friend, who was taking a pair of wire cutters and carefully placing them on the wire. The bullet may have just grazed Sam's arm, but it still hurt like hell.

"Do you want to go up in smoke?" Dean yelled back. "Because I sure as hell don't want to! Now shut up and try not to get hit by anymore bullets!"

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean went about his work, hurrying up slightly as the bullets came flying faster. Bobby let out a low grunt as one grazed the back of his leg.

"Throw the damn thing on the count of three, Winchester!" Dean ordered, standing up, pulling Bobby with him. "One… two…"

Sam didn't wait for three. He tossed the sucker and then bolted for cover, helping Dean drag Bobby along with them.

They barely made it. No sooner had they covered their heads did the grenade explode. The sounds of machine gun fire ceased instantly.

"Wow that was fun!" Dean whooped, standing up. Sam shakily got to his feet, hauling Bobby up with him.

"Singer, next time, do us all a favor and watch your step, will ya?" Sam asked, his voice somewhat teasing. He meant the words, though. He didn't need his friend dying because he stepped on a freaking trip wire. Again.

"Will do, Winchester," Bobby replied, sending a mock salute Sam's way. Sam rolled his eyes.

"How about we head back and find out what the cook is making for dinner?" Dean suggested, picking up the gun he had dropped in his haste to save his friend. He picked up Sam's as well, tossing it to him.

Sam barely caught it. If he hadn't had such quick reflexes, he would have missed it. Even still, he caught it by the tips of his fingers, wincing at the agony that flared up in his arm as he did so.

Dean caught the look. Bobby seemed to sense that something was wrong with his friend as well, for he turned to Sam with a look of concern on his face.

"You okay, Winchester?" Dean asked, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam blinked tiredly up at him, not quite comprehending what the other man said.

_Damn,_ he thought somewhat distantly. _Bullet wounds hurt. Remind me never to get hit by one again._

"Winchester! Sam? Damn it, Sammy!"

Sam could hear the worry in Dean's voice as the other man caught a look of his arm. Blood was seeping out of the fabric of Sam's shirt, staining it a pretty shade of brownish red. Sam guessed that the bullet went deeper then he originally thought.

But that wasn't what Dean was staring at. The wound was bad, but it wasn't life threatening. A couple of stitches would fix it fine. It was the scar that rested below the bullet hole, the one knotty white mark that had been inflicted by a hunting knife three years previously when Sam's father had decided that his fucked up life was Sam's fault again. The scar went from the middle of Sam's bicep all the way to his chest. Sam had nearly died from blood loss the night it had been inflicted. If it hadn't been for Janet, Sam's step-mother, Sam would be six feet under right now.

"What the fuck, Winchester?"

Bobby hadn't seen the scar, but he had certainly seen the bullet wound.

"I'm fine, guys," Sam lied easily. His arm hurt like hell, but he also knew that they had a job to do and he would be damned if he kept them from it. "Just give me a bandanna and I'll live."

The look on Dean's face said differently. It said that if Sam didn't tell him what the hell had happened, Sam would end up in a pine box after all.

"Damn it, Winchester," Bobby groused, handing him a well used bandanna. They got injured often enough by flying bullets that one of them always carried around a bandanna to stem the bleeding until they got back to camp. "Why do you always have to go and get yourself shot?"

"Why do you have to always go stepping on the fucking trip wires?" Sam growled back, glaring at his friend. He was tired, his arm hurt worse now then it had earlier, and the scent of blood and dust was beginning to make him sick.

"Hey, break it up you two," Dean ordered, taking Sam's bad arm and wrapping the bandanna he had stolen from Bobby tightly around Sam's arm. "This could have been a hell of a lot worse. Do not make it so by freaking arguing."

"Thanks," Sam muttered to his friend, shifting his gun to his good shoulder. "We should probably find Ryan and James; make sure they haven't gotten themselves shot. Clayton will have our asses if they got killed."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, bro," Dean agreed, slapping Sam lightly on his good shoulder.

The three friends set off, with Dean in the middle, Sam on one side, and Bobby on the other.

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Sam winced as the last stitch was threaded through his arm. His long time best friend, Joshua Whitely, was the camp's medic. He could do just about anything an ordinary doctor could, which made him a valuable asset to the troop. He had patched up the three musketeers more times then he could count. Also, he was the only one who knew the truth about Sam's background, the reason behind all the scars Sam had.

"Dean found out about the on your arm, huh?" Joshua asked, putting a bright white bandage on the wound and handing Sam his shirt.

"How could you tell?" Sam asked, ignoring the sting of the stitches pulling on his arm as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He held his nose as he did so; he really needed to do laundry and take a shower.

"Well, Richardson isn't one for hovering and I nearly had to tape my boot to his ass to get him to move out of here," Joshua said. "What are you going to tell him?"

"The truth, maybe," Sam said, with a one-armed shrug. "I don't know. He kind of avoids awkward moments like the plague. Maybe I'll luck out and he won't ask."

"Yeah and maybe I'll invent the cure to cancer," Joshua groused. Sam shot him a sly smile, as if to say, _well, you could_. "Get out of here, before I do some real damage to you. And try not to get yourself shot again, okay? I've stitched you up enough times that I could make three dozen blankets out of the thread."

"Without me and Dean, you'd be out of business in a heartbeat," Sam pointed out with a smirk. "Admit it, you love it."

"Whatever," Joshua said with an eye roll. "Some days, I swear this is all a competition. Who can get hurt the most? And then other days, I just want to kill you myself for being so stupid. You know you have a girlfriend waiting for you back at home, right? One that would probably go insane if you got yourself killed over here?"

"Yeah, Joshua, I know," Sam said with the soft smile he got every time Jessica was mentioned. "I got a letter from her today."

"And?" Joshua's eyebrows rose questioningly. Sam blushed once and looked away from his friend. "That good, eh?"

"Shut up, man! You know she isn't like that! No, she just wanted to know when I was coming home and that her father wanted to know when I was going to ask her to marry me," Sam said, his blush turning deeper.

"When's your next r'n'r?" Joshua asked, already knowing of Sam's plan to pop the question on Jessica the next chance he got to see her. They had been dating for years; it wasn't a surprise that Sam wanted to ask her to marry him. They were as perfect for each other as they could be.

"Not for another three months at least," Sam said with a grimace. "And even then, it's only for two days. I might as well wait out the next five months and ask her when I get home."

"Invite me to the wedding," Joshua said, putting away his medical supplies. "And I'll try my hardest not to get drunk at this one."

Sam let out a laugh, remembering the time his friend had gotten drunk at Sam's father's wedding and Sam had to carry him out of the church because he began making advances on the bride. That had been three years ago to the date.

"Yeah, you do that," he said. "And also, try to bring a date to this one so I don't have to carry your ass out this time around. Better yet, bring your wife!"

Joshua had gotten married fresh out of high school to his girlfriend of three years. They had a baby son named Jason Samuel Whitely, named after the girlfriend's brother and Sam. Sam was the unofficial godfather of Jason.

"Yeah, yeah, I will if she's not off with the milkman," Joshua said, smirking. Joshua and his wife were always teasing each other about being unfaithful, even though they were more loyal to each other than a dog was to its master.

"I'll invite him, too!" Sam said, turning to leave the tent. He was stopped by Joshua's hand on his shoulder. Sam turned back to his friend. "What?"

"Just make it through the next five months in one piece, okay? That way there will be a wedding to go to," he said. "We all need something to look forward to around here."

Sam knew that that was a warning not to go and be suicidal, the way he usually was during their city raids. He also knew that the warning would go unheeded.

"Yes sir," he said anyway, giving his friend a salute. Technically, Joshua was of higher rank than Sam, but neither of them really cared.

"Now go tell your mother out there that you will be fine," Joshua said, swatting Sam's good shoulder and pointing to Dean's hovering form outside of the tent.

"On second thought, can I just wait out the rest of the war in here?" Sam asked. Joshua rolled his eyes and gave Sam a shove in the direction of the entrance.

**Okay, so what did you all think? I added a little more action to this chapter and also introduced Joshua. I didn't know Joshua's last name from the actual series or if they ever mentioned it, so I went ahead and made my own. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_ or any of its characters. **

**Author's Note: I seriously need a new hobby... I finished writing the entire first half of the story today during class. So, I decided to update chapter 3. I'm not too happy with this chapter, mostly because it was the hardest one to write due mostly to the new characters added in and the fight scene. However, the next couple chapters after this grow steadily better, I think. **

**Author's Note 2: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews you have been giving me. This is my first _Supernatural_ fanfic, so any little bit about the story helps.**

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Supernatural

"The War To End All Wars"

Chapter 3

Dean was quiet. Too quiet. For someone who was usually loud and obnoxious, this sudden quiet scared the hell out of Sam. He also knew it had something to do with the things Sam had not said when Dean had questioned where he had gotten the scar from.

"I got it from an accident with a knife," Sam had said. It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the truth, either. Sam hadn't had an accident with a knife; his father had purposefully stabbed him for Joshua's disruption at the wedding. Sam had known by the look on Dean's face that Dean hadn't bought it for a second.

"…and Sam decides to go throw the grenade at the idiots who were firing at us in the first place," Ryan, one of the guys who had patrolled with Sam, Dean, and Bobby, was telling a large group of friends in the center of the mess tent.

Dean, Sam, and Bobby all sat at their own table, along with Joshua, Caleb Reeves, and Jo Harvelle. Jo was the only girl that Dean, Sam, and Bobby got along with while Caleb was just another soldier who tolerated their antics. Caleb was easy going, while Jo was sarcastic and moody all the time. Both never minded the fact that Bobby, Sam, and Dean were loners, even though they were the nicest people one would ever meet.

"God, they're such dicks!" Sam groaned to Dean, who still had yet to say anything that evening. He was pissed, beyond pissed, if Sam was reading Dean's mood correctly. "Why can't they just shut the fuck up?"

Bobby and Caleb were talking about what type of caliber gun shot the best, while Jo was moodily glaring at Ryan. She absolutely loathed just about everyone in the camp, with the exception of Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Caleb.

"Why can't you?" Dean growled back. "I mean, first you don't want to talk and now it's all you do."

"What the hell is the matter with you now?" Sam demanded, losing all sense of teasing. His voice had risen, drawing attention from Bobby, Caleb, and Jo.

"You and your pathetic lies," Dean hissed back, obviously embarrassed to be at the attention of his friends. "Why can't you just once give me a straight answer?"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," Sam spat back. "Mr. I-am-so-fucking-cool-that-I-can-take-anything-and-make-a-joke Richardson."

"There you go again!" Dean said, his voice finally rising. By now, the entire mess tent had fallen silent and all attention on Dean and Sam. The two never fought. It was like Christmas had come early to Ryan and his friends, all of which were highly jealous of Dean, Sam, and the others.

"It's my life! I have every right to keep my secrets!" Sam shouted, finally losing it. Everyone else exchanged confused glances with each other while Dean gave Sam a heated stare.

"Secrets on a battle field are what cause people to get killed!" he said, his voice cool, calm, and extremely pissed off.

"And you're saying you have absolutely no secrets whatsoever?" Sam demanded, his voice disbelieving. "Because I say that's a bunch of bullshit!"

"Why the hell won't you just tell me? It can't be _that_ bad! I mean, seriously, you come from a better family then the rest of us! It's how you got into fucking Stanford, right?"

Sam fought back the tears that were building in his eyes at just how stupid Dean was. Joshua seemed to sense that, for he broke in.

"I think you just need to leave it, Richardson," he said. "If Winchester doesn't want to tell you, then just leave it."

"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded.

"You think you know everything, but you really don't," Sam hissed angrily, fighting to control his emotions. "So you know what? Fuck off. I don't need you and I don't need this."

With that, he knocked his tray off the table with so much force that it slammed into the wooden mess tent door. Sam got up and stormed out of the mess tent, completely ignoring the shocked stares and gasps coming from behind him.

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Sam stormed into the tent he shared with Bobby and Dean, grabbing his duffel bag and stuffing random items into it. He didn't care if he would end up in jail for deserting. He just needed to get the hell out of there before he killed someone.

"Winchester?" a soft voice asked. Sam spun around, getting ready to snap at the intruder, before he realized who it was. It was the company clerk, Jackson. Sam sighed wearily.

"What is it, Jackson?" he asked. He couldn't be mad at the company clerk; the guy was too shy and too sweet.

"There's a phone call for you, from a Ms. Moore," Jackson said, his face turning ten different shades of red. "She said that she really needed to talk to you."

Sam's heart rose. Jessica. His fiancée to be. His night seemed brighter all of a sudden as he followed Jackson to the main office.

"Jess?" he whispered into the phone, his voice shaking. "God, it's good to hear from you. I miss you so much. Really? Your dad said that? Well, tell him I say I will be home as soon as possible and I'll fix that problem for him. Yeah, I just got your letter this morning. I'm fine. Joshua did what? I'm fine, Jess, I promise. It was just a graze. Nothing like what _he_ used to do. Yeah, Jess, I'm sure. I will be home soon. Have I mentioned how much I love you? I do. So much. I hope so, too. I will, Jess, I swear to you. I will return home and marry you. I love you, too. Bye, Jess."

Even after she hung up, he held onto the phone, craving that connection between her and him, his last hold to sanity. His life was now so fucked up that it was nice to have a little peace, a little heaven away from all the hell he was going through.

"Winchester?" Jackson asked. He had disappeared a few minutes ago, giving Sam a little peace with his phone call. "I need the phone to call in the requisition for new supplies."

"What?" Sam asked, blinking and shifting his gaze from staring into space to the young clerk. "Oh, right. Here. Thanks, Jackson."

"Tell Richardson that," Jackson said. "He was the one who told me to call her."

Sam sighed, knowing that his friend was trying to apologize in his own way for pissing the younger off royally. It was also Dean's way of saying that he was backing off, letting Sam decide what he wanted to tell him. Sam was grateful for the effort, but at the same time, wasn't sure if he wanted it. He just wanted to go back to the way things had been before Dean had noticed the scars.

"I will," Sam promised. He got off the chair and went to leave, but something stopped him. "And Jackson?"

"Yeah, Winchester?"

"If you ever need anything, anything at all, just let me know, okay?" Sam said. "I'll do my best to help you out."

Jackson looked taken aback by his offer, but nodded his thanks. Sam nodded as well and then walked out the door.

* * *

Dean was pacing the tent when Sam returned. He had an anxious look on his face and kept looking up at the small alarm clock Sam had perched above his cot. Outside, night had fallen and there was a storm on its way. Distant thunder could already be heard.

"Hey," Sam offered the olive branch as he flopped down on his bunk. "Thanks for telling Jackson to call Jess."

"I figured it was the only way to get the major stick out of your ass," Dean said, flopping down on the chair next to Sam's cot. Sam had put it there to get the other two off his cot. They had a habit of just coming and sprawling across it, even with Sam on it. He put the chair there to discourage such things.

"Look, Dean, I meant what I said about everyone being entitled to their own secrets," Sam said warningly. Dean held up a hand in protest.

"I know," he said. "And I will back off. For now."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing that by the next fight that rolled around, Dean would have already forgotten about it. Crisis avoided. Sam didn't have to tell Dean about what type of lifestyle he came from. For now, at least.

"Could you take a shower?" Sam asked, turning the conversation to one of amusement. "You don't want to cheat me out of Bobby's money, now, do you?"

Dean laughed.

"I guess I could take one," he said, grabbing his towel and a change of clothes. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Dude, where would I go?" Sam asked innocently, feeling Dean's stare turn to his duffel bag.

"Wherever you were planning on going before Jackson called Jessica," Dean answered. "Stay."

"Dude, I'm not a dog and I'm not going AWOL anymore, okay? Just go take a shower."

Dean hesitated by the door, clearly wanting to say something. But Sam had turned his back to Dean, feeling a wave of exhaustion come up on him. Getting shot, having your friend yell at you, saving another friend from a grenade, and hiking ten miles seemed to have that affect on people. He was asleep before Dean even left the tent.

* * *

**So, what did you think? Awful? Half-way decent? Totally in love with it? Hope you enjoyed it. Read and review please!! I should have the next chapter updated soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the wonderfully amazing reviews you all are leaving for me. Thank you so much!! I'm glad you're enjoying this story.**

**Author's Note: This chapter is kind of a filler chapter and probably the last one you're going to get before Saturday. I'm still editing a few parts in the next couple of chapters, but as soon as I have those done, I will post them.**

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 4**

Sam awoke in the middle of the night to sounds of loud booms and flashes of light. Instantly, he began the search for his boots and his gun, thinking the camp was under attack.

Across the tent, Dean was doing the same thing while Bobby snored on, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, barely audible above sudden _crack_. There was a dripping sound coming from outside; it sounded as though a million pipes had burst.

"I don't know, man," was Dean's reply to the unanswered question.

Turning away from Dean, Sam looked out the translucent material of their tent. And laughed hysterically.

"Dude! It's a thunderstorm!" he said, laughing at the rain and the lightning. It made sense; there had been thunder earlier that day, signaling an oncoming storm. And, it had certainly been hot enough for a thunderstorm. Sam felt like an idiot.

"Really?" Dean asked, his eyes growing wide before looking out the window as well. He let out a booming laugh, one that caused Bobby to stir slightly before rolling over and letting out a loud snore.

"Who would have guessed?" Sam asked, setting his gun down on the ground again and kicking off his boots. He stretched once and lay back down on his bed, closing his eyes with every intention of going to sleep. However, Dean seemed to have other ideas.

"Sam?" he whispered quietly. Sam opened his eyes and nearly jumped to find Dean looming over him in the darkness.

"What the hell, man? Halloween isn't for another month and a half! Don't scare me like that!" Sam exclaimed, flipping on the overhead light.

"Sorry," Dean said, sitting down in the chair next to Sam's cot. "I just don't really feel like going back to sleep and since you're up…"

Sam could practically taste the whiskey from the powerful odor that was coming off of Dean. He inwardly sighed, knowing that he wasn't going back to sleep.

Sitting up and wincing at the pull of his stitches, Sam blinked heavily and nodded, biting back a yawn.

"All right," he said. "But if we get in trouble in the morning, I am totally blaming your sorry ass."

Dean smirked drunkenly.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, Sammy?" he slurred. "And how pretty you are?"

"Only every week, Dean," Sam said, smirking slightly at the older man's antics. "And you don't want Cassie to hear you say that. After all, don't you love her?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean said, a dreamy smile crossing his face. "She's so pretty. We're married, you know."

"You've only told me half a billion times, Dean," Sam reminded him.

"Really?" Dean seemed surprised. "Oh. Well, I love her. I love you, too. I mean, you're always there, you're always saving my ass… you never leave. Everyone leaves, except you. Hell, I even left! But you don't. Why don't you leave?"

"I guess I'm a sucker for you, Dean," Sam said, taking pride in the small fact that Dean was in his own drunken way, complementing him.

"Thank you, Sammy," Dean said, swaying slightly. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

"That's a fabulous idea, Dean," Sam said, smiling lightly as Dean did a face plant into Sam's cot. Sighing, he slid his legs out from underneath his blankets and yanked Dean onto the cot. He covered Dean with the light blanket before taking his pillow and going over to Dean's cot. "Good night, Dean."

"'Night, Sammy," Dean muttered against the pillow. Sam smiled again, turning over and falling asleep instantly.

* * *

Sam woke the next morning to the sounds of groaning and retching coming from outside of the tent. Knowing it was Dean being hung over and knowing that no one else was going to do anything about it; Sam shoved on his boots and grabbed a semi-clean t-shirt and headed out of the tent.

Dean was hunched over, shielding his light sensitive eyes with one hand while the other was wrapped around his waist. The vile smell of vomit made Sam want to hurl as he grabbed Dean around the stomach and pulled him upright.

"Let's go get some coffee," he suggested, letting his friend lean against him as they headed towards the mess tent. Dean didn't put up any objection. If anything, he leaned a little more into Sam.

"Man, how drunk did I get last night?" he groaned as Sam pulled open the mess tent door and shoved the other man inside.

"You were going on and on about how much you loved me if that's any indication," Sam said, grabbing two coffee cups and handing one to Dean. Dean took it and stared at it as if he had never seen one before.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly and Sam knew he wasn't apologizing just for his drunkenness.

"It's okay," Sam said with a shrug, filling up his own mug of coffee. Seeing Dean being utterly helpless about his, Sam decided to relieve him of his misery and filled it up with the bitter brown liquid.

"Thanks," Dean said, taking the mug with a grateful sigh. He let Sam steer him over to the table where Bobby, Joshua, and Jo were sitting.

"What's wrong with him?" Jo asked with all the subtlety of a blunt axe as Dean flopped down on the seat next to Sam and put his head down.

"He got pretty drunk last night," Sam said softly as Dean stared listlessly at his coffee. Leaning over, Sam added in a stage whisper, "It helps if you put the cup to your mouth and drink."

Dean fixated him with such a glare that Sam merely rolled his eyes and put up his hands in mock defeat. The older man did however begin drinking his coffee.

"Is he going to be okay for duty today?" Bobby asked worriedly, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"You know, I'm sitting right here," Dean said gravelly, fixing his glare on Bobby. "I'm hung over, not dead. I can still answer your questions. And yes, I will be fine."

Sam smirked, glad that his coffee hid his expression from his friends.

* * *

The next day was worse. Dean was still extremely grouchy towards everyone, Sam included. He had gotten drunk again the night before and now had a double hang over, along with a small concussion from being thrown into a wall by Smith, when the younger guy decided he wanted to try and beat the living hell out of Sam and Dean had gotten into the middle of it. Bobby and Ryan had gone on ahead, leaving Sam to break it up.

"Guys! You are professional soldiers with a job to do!" he had shouted, stepping in between Smith and Dean. He got punched in the nose by Smith. It started bleeding instantly.

"Oi! Leave him the hell alone for once! He never did anything to you!" Dean yelled, struggling to get past Sam's binding arms.

"Dean! Damn it, Richardson, calm the fuck down!" Sam ordered, pressing Dean harder up against the wall.

"I'm not going to let that little prick get away with punching you, Sam!" Dean snapped, struggling even harder against Sam's arms.

"Dean, it doesn't matter, just calm down," Sam said. "Calm down. Now."

"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend," Smith snarled gleefully. That did it for Sam. He dropped his gun and his restraint on Dean before whirling around to face the shorter, younger man. Smith was about five foot nine and Sam had at least seven inches on him, as well as more muscle. It would not be a fair fight.

"I suggest you shut the hell up and grow the fuck up before I pound you into a wall myself," Sam said, his voice growing soft and menacing. He curled his hands into fists. Smith flinched, a look of fear entering his eyes.

"I-I didn't mean it!" he protested. Sam glared down at him.

"Stay the hell away from Richardson and me, or by god, I swear I will kick your ass all the way back to the States, you hear me?" he demanded. Smith nodded meekly, before turning and jogging in the opposite direction, heading towards the trucks.

"Shit, he's gone to squeal to Clayton," Dean swore. Sam turned his glare on him.

"What the hell were you thinking, getting into a fist fight with that punk?" he demanded, shoving Dean up against the wall again. "Do you have no brain whatsoever? Do you really want to get thrown out of the army that badly? You know that idiot will go straight to Clayton and yet you don't seem to give a damn! Why can't you for once just _let_ _it go_?"

"Dude, he decked you!" Dean protested. "What did you want me to do? Just walk away?"

"Yes, Dean! I'm fine, no thanks to you!" Sam said, wiping his still bleeding nose on his sleeve. He released his hold on Dean and took a couple of steps backwards.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean growled. "Just grow the hell up, all right? I'm going to look out for you, regardless of whether you want me to or not. So just get over it!"

"You're not going to if it means that you're going to get yourself thrown out of the army for fighting!" Sam yelled back.

Dean glared at Sam and Sam glared back. Neither was willing to give up, give the other the victory.

"Richardson! Winchester!"

The sound of Clayton's voice broke the glaring match between the two. Bobby had just come back along with Ryan in one direction and Captain Clayton had come with Smith from the other. Sam swore mentally.

"Yes sir?" Sam asked, turning away from Dean to face Captain Clayton.

"What is this Smith tells me about fighting between you three?" Clayton demanded. Sam stared at his feet while Dean inspected his hands. "I do not tolerate fighting amongst my men, you understand me?"

"Yes sir," Sam mumbled. Dean muttered something incoherent.

"What was that, Richardson?" Clayton asked, turning his glare on Dean. "If you have something to say, speak up so everyone can hear you."

"I said 'yes sir'" Dean said sarcastically, shouting the words for a good measure. Sam fought back an eye roll and smirk.

"The three of you will go on a ten mile run when we get back to camp," Clayton said, his voice dangerously soft. "In full gear. And if I catch any of you fighting, ever again, I will have your asses on a platter, you understand me?"

"Sir yes sir!" Sam, Dean, and Smith chorused, saluting the Captain.

"Now get your asses back to the truck! Move!" Clayton ordered.

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Hope you all enjoyed it! Sam and Dean will be back to being friends in the next chapter, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making off of this story is the wonderful reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: This chapter is the beginning of a long roller coaster ride. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. **

**Author's Note 2: Next update will be next Saturday.**

* * *

**Supernatural**

"_**The War To End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 5**

The weather was taking another turn for the worse as Dean, Sam, and Smith all set about on their ten mile run. Dark clouds were covering the sky, the wind was picking up, and there were rumbles of thunder in the distance.

"This weather is freaking perfect," Dean growled as he jogged next to Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring his friend. There wasn't much good in complaining; it only made you out of breath later.

"Well maybe if Sam hadn't decided to try and take me out, you wouldn't have to be here right now," Smith said condescendingly. "So why don't you try shutting up and doing your job for once?"

"Maybe if you don't shut your pie hole, you won't be here tomorrow morning," Dean said, taking a slight step towards Smith. Before he could do anything, however, Smith slipped in a patch of mud and went down. Sam would have paid good money to get the look on Dean's face on camera.

"Talk about karma," Dean said, laughing loudly. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating Smith's annoyed face.

"Richardson, come on," Sam said, pushing his friend down a random trail, one he knew Smith wouldn't take. He didn't need yet another fight on their hands.

Rain started falling heavily as Sam and Dean ran towards their five mile marker point. The trail became increasingly treacherous as they went on.

"This probably wasn't the best trail to take!" Dean yelled over the wind.

"You think?" Sam yelled back.

"It was your brilliant idea! Honestly, don't you ever think?"

"Do you? The only reason why we're on this fucking run is because you can't learn to stay the hell out of everyone's business!"

"I thought I was doing you a favor! Honestly, next time you want the shit beaten out of you, just ask! I'll gladly do the honors! You don't need some punk doing that to you!"

"I was handling it myself just fine, thanks! If you had just stayed out of it, we wouldn't be here right now!"

"Maybe," Dean consented. "Then again, what would you have done?"

Sam let out a soft chuckle, before increasing his pace to one that he knew Dean would have trouble keeping up with. He knew exactly what he would have done; he would have knocked Smith's lights out. But Dean didn't need to know that.

Sam heard Dean's small of huff of annoyance before he slowed down enough to let Dean catch back up with him.

"What would you have done, Sammy?" Dean asked again. Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname.

"You know exactly what I would have done, Dean," he said. "Same thing you did."

"Then why give me the lecture?"

"Cause you never gave me a chance to knock him out!"

"Oh. You're a bitch, you know that? Honestly, lecturing a guy for doing something you were about to do… that's not nice, Sammy."

"You're a jerk. And it's Sam."

"Whatever, bitch."

"Jerk."

The terrain became too treacherous for them to talk. They had to put all their efforts into staying on their feet, which was becoming increasingly difficult. They ran in silence, letting the rain be the conversation for them.

* * *

The patrol the following day was boring. No trip wires, no machine guns, nothing. Just extreme heat, an extremely pissed off Dean, Smith and Ryan. Nothing eventful happened and despite of that, Sam was never as grateful to lie down as he was at that moment. His head ached and his throat was parched, two things he chalked up to dehydration and lack of sleep. Dean was being a major pain in the ass by growling a response to everything anyone said, and Bobby was being as helpful as a bat to the head.

"Winchester!"

The sound of Joshua's voice cut through Sam's headache. Unwillingly, Sam opened his eyes and found his best friend looming over him.

"What the hell, Whitely?" Sam growled. "Can't a guy die in peace?"

Joshua's face remained grim.

"Sorry, no can do, Winchester. Captain says he wants you, Richardson, and Singer for another patrol pronto," he said. "Sent me instead of Jackson. Figured you might try and kill Jackson if he told you and thought that I might have a better chance of getting out of this alive."

"What the hell? I just got off a five hour long patrol! Tell the captain that he can go fuck off for all I care! I'm going to sleep and then I'm going to take a shower! I am not going on another fucking patrol!" Sam yelled.

"Sorry, Sam," Joshua said, shrugging. "But they're direct orders. You can't disobey them."

"Direct orders my ass," Sam grumbled. "What the hell is he thinking? Is he trying to get us all killed?"

"You'll be patrolling with Richardson, Singer, Harvelle, and Reeves," Joshua said, trying to make light of the situation. "Along with the captain himself. It's going to be an elite patrol to the center of the city. You're going to be trying to get everyone out before the Air Force comes in and bombs it."

"How long?" Sam asked, leaning back on his cot and craving sleep. The center of the city was the worst; the kamikaze bombers along with every other type of rogue soldier were in the center, trying to kill as many people as possible. Sam had only been there once, and that was when Dean had nearly gotten himself killed trying to save Sam's life.

"Till you leave or till they bomb it?" Joshua countered. Sam opened one eye and glared at Joshua. "Half an hour before you leave, a little over three hours before they bomb it. You guys have a two hour window before the place explodes."

"Shit," Sam swore. Two hours was not long enough, not by any means. Not to evacuate an entire city. Even with all the company's best soldiers, it was going to be nearly impossible to evacuate the city before the Air Force came in and bombed the place.

"Look on the bright side," Joshua said. He earned himself another death glare from Sam, who was bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase 'if looks could kill' at the present. "If you survive this you get three uninterrupted weeks of r'n'r."

"Three weeks?" Sam asked, surprised. Three weeks meant he could go home, see Jessica, and ask her to marry him. Three weeks…

"That's only if you don't spend three weeks in a hospital bed or die," Joshua said, shrugging. "Either way, you will get the rest you want, right?"

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine?" Sam groused. He picked up one of his many pillows and lobbed it at Joshua. "Get the hell out of here. And find Richardson. If he doesn't kill you, then it's your lucky day. He's probably in the shower."

Joshua nodded, before ducking out of the tent. Sam sighed, getting off his cot and hunting for his bottle of Advil. If he was going on patrol in a fucking half hour, he was going to need it. _Damn the Air Force and their stupid bombs,_ he thought bitterly, finding the bottle and opening it. He shook out two pills and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. Then, he searched for what he would need for the evacuation patrol.

* * *

The only word Sam could use to describe Captain Erik Clayton was tough. The man had been through the Gulf War, fighting as a private and making his way up through the ranks. The man knew how to obey orders and how to give them. He also knew how to handle his men properly, head up an entire evacuation process to take place in under two hours, and keep his cool, all in over one hundred degree weather. It was a good thing, too, for this patrol would turn out to be one of the hardest of the man's life.

The convoy of trucks halted just outside of the city. Captain Clayton ordered everyone out and to gather around his.

"All right, gents and lady," he said, nodding his head respectfully towards Jo. She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to continue. "This is how it's going to work. We have exactly two and a half hours before the Air Force hits this place with bombs. We have two hours to get everyone we can out of here. If one of them is left behind, then they're going to stay left behind. Same goes for us; if one of us is left behind, then they stay left behind. No one gets to play the hero today. We all go in, get as many people as we can, and we all try our damndest to get the hell out. Understood?"

As he said this, he looked directly at Sam and Dean, both of whom had a reputation of playing hero when it came to their friends. Dean nodded instantly, and after a moment's hesitation, so did Sam.

"All right, then. We're going to work in pairs and each take a part of the city," General Clayton continued. "The pairs are as followed: Singer and Reeves, Richardson and Winchester, and Harvelle and myself. Singer, Reeves, you will be taking the outer perimeter. Richardson, Winchester, you will be taking the center of the city itself. Harvelle, you and I will be taking the area between the two. Meet back here in two hours sharp or you will be left behind. Get as many people out as you can! Go!"

Sam saluted the captain, along with everyone else, before picking up his gun from where he had set it down and started walking towards the center of the city. Dean was right behind him, growling underneath his breath about the insanity of the latest mission.

"Doesn't the guy know the meaning of the word rest?" he said. "I mean seriously, is he trying to get us all killed? And why the hell is he sending _us_ to the center of the city? I mean, that place if fucking dangerous! It's suicide going in there, especially when I'm hung over and you look like you just went ten rounds with a block of cement and lost! What the hell, man?"

"Clayton thinks we're the best he's got," Sam said with a shrug. The pull of the stitches stung a little, but it was nothing completely unbearable. His headache, however, was making its way quickly towards a full blown migraine, something he wanted to avoid as much as possible.

"Dude, I don't give a damn what Clayton thinks," Dean muttered. "I just want to sleep. And eat. Man, I could eat right now. A juicy double cheeseburger with extra onions, yum. And then pie. I love pie. Apple pie is my favorite type of pie. What about you? What type of pie is your favorite?"

Sam wondered if Dean was drunk again. He was certainly acting that way. _This is going to be one __**long**__ patrol,_ he thought.

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Just so you know… Dean is

_**not**_** drunk… just thought I'd add that last bit for humor. **

**Read and review and tell me what you think!! Also, thanks to xxangelgrl92 for reminding me that it was Saturday and it was time to update. I nearly forgot!! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the wonderful reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: I am basically done with this story now… All I have to do is go back and edit a couple of chapters here and there and I will be done. I will have the next chapter posted next Saturday at the latest.**

**Author's Note 2: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews you all are giving me!!**

**Author's Note 3: I got bored and decided you all would like to read chapter 6 this weekend as well. Chapter 7 won't be up until next weekend, but I figured I'd give you a taste of action and a very evil cliffhanger until next weekend.**

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Supernatural

"_**The War To End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 6**

Dean and Sam arrived at the last house of their section way inside of the allotted time. They had gotten just about everyone out, with the exception of two people who were in the house they were at now. So far, everything had gone pretty smoothly. Only one suicide bomber had appeared and Sam and Dean had gotten under cover before the bomb went off. Now, with a little over half an hour left on the clock, they were starting to get a little cocky.

"Man, I can't believe that I was worried about this earlier!" Dean said, stretching one arm lazily as Sam knocked on the door. Since Sam was the only person who could speak the language of the natives, he was in charge of telling the people what was happening and to get out of the area. All Dean had to do was stand there and point his gun at the ones who needed a little incentive to get their ass in gear.

"I know," Sam agreed, knocking again. There was still no response. "This is going almost too easily."

He knocked one more time, before turning to Dean and shrugging in response to the unspoken question on his friend's face.

"I guess that's one less house to worry about," Dean said, a grin crossing his face.

Sam heard the sound seconds before Dean did. It was a low, beeping sound.

"Run!" Sam shouted, knowing that the house was about to explode. A flash of fear crossed Dean's face as the two sprang into action.

"We need to get back to the truck!" Dean yelled.

"We don't have time! This whole city is about to explode!" Sam yelled back. "It's the Air Force's bombs!"

"They aren't supposed to go off for another hour!" Dean protested, bursting into a run. Sam caught up to him seconds later.

"Try telling them that! We have maybe two minutes to find cover! There's a foxhole over there," Sam said, pointing to a hole in the ground a couple of yards ahead. "If we can get there-"

He didn't have time to finish. A gut wrenching explosion cut off the rest of his words and sent the older man flying towards a wall, which crumbled on impact. A showering of bricks covered Dean, hiding him from view.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, beginning to run towards the fallen soldier.

Another explosion occurred a couple of feet away from Sam, seconds after he started running towards Dean. He got thrown a few yards away from Dean by the blast alone.

There was one more rocking explosion before it went deathly quiet. There was no movement from the center of the city, only a gruff voice yelling:

"_Richardson! Winchester!_"

* * *

Captain Clayton was not known for his patience. Nor was he known for his beside manner. He proved these things on an almost daily basis, but it still surprised the hell out of Jo how rude the guy could be, especially to those he was trying to help out. He cussed them out in every language he knew until they finally got their asses in gear and started getting out of the city.

They were at the last house with just a little over an hour left. Jo could tell by the looks of things that the people who lived there had already up and left. She let out an inward sigh of relief. One less family to worry about.

"It looks like we can head back to the truck," Captain Clayton said, his voice sounding as relieved as Jo felt. "I hope the others have had as much luck as we've had."

"Yeah," Jo said quietly. She was suddenly exhausted. This was her first daytime patrol; usually she went on the nighttime ones. She had been up all night in the thunderstorm and barely had had a chance to sleep before Jackson was waking her and telling her Clayton wanted her for a patrol.

"I hope Richardson and Winchester haven't gotten themselves into any trouble," Clayton said. "If they have, I'm going to kill them myself."

As if in response to the issued challenge, a low rumbling sound occurred from far in the distance, close to the center of the city.

"Shit!" Jo swore, recognizing the sound as one of an explosion about to occur. She heard them a lot during the night patrol, generally near the center of the city.

"Richardson! Winchester!" Clayton yelled into his walkie talkie, the one connected to Sam and Dean's. There was no response, only a deafening _boom_. A cloud of smoke was visible from the center of the city.

"_Clayton! What the hell happened? Is everything all right?_"

The walkie talkie crackled to life, only instead of being the two missing soldiers, it was Bobby and Caleb.

"There was an explosion in the center of the city," Clayton answered grimly. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other line.

"_Richardson? Winchester?_" Bobby asked.

"We haven't heard from them," Clayton answered. "They're missing."

"_We're coming to you,_" Bobby said. "_We'll be there in about five minutes._"

"Negative, Singer," Clayton said. "Meet us at the trucks."

"_We have to go after them!_" Bobby yelled into the walkie talkie. The trucks were on the outskirts of the city, about as far away from the center of the city as one could get. Jo knew that they weren't going to attempt a rescue and it pissed her off. Those were her _friends_ and Clayton's best soldiers. Like hell they weren't going after them!

She was about to tell Clayton that when a second rumbling occurred in the same spot.

"NO!" she screamed as another deafening _boom_ occurred. A bigger plume of smoke appeared above the city's center.

"_What the hell is happening, Clayton? Where are Richardson and Winchester? Why the hell aren't we going after them?_" It was Caleb's voice on the line. Bobby had obviously given up talking to the captain.

"Your orders were to get back to the truck and stay there," Clayton said icily. "If you disobey them, I'm going to have you court marshaled. You are hereby warned."

Jo heard the muttering on the other end of the line and knew that Clayton was going to have a near impossible time keeping those two in place. Sam and Dean were extremely close to Caleb and Bobby, and there was no way either of the two other soldiers were going to let them go without a fight.

"_Captain, I hate to break it to you, but court marshalling us isn't going to cut it,_" Bobby said, sounding determined. "_You can court marshal us all the way to hell if that's what you really want, but we're still going to go after Richardson and Winchester._"

"Harvelle, a little help here!" Clayton said, turning to Jo with an exasperated sigh. Jo shrugged.

"They're right," she said. "We should be going after them, not heading back to camp. They could be dead for all we know."

Clayton shot her a glare. She merely rolled her eyes.

"Damn it," he growled. "All right. We're going back to the trucks, Singer. If you're there when we get there, then we're going after them. If not, then we go home. If any of us get hurt, we go home. Winchester and Richardson can fend for themselves that long."

"_Captain, you're killing us here. Let us go after them!_" Reeves was back. Bobby had given up again after the last order.

"Negative, Reeves. You and Singer keep your asses by that truck or I swear I'm going to shoot you myself!"

At that, a third and final rumbling could be heard, this one closer then the previous two.

"Shit," Jo swore, feeling the ground shake underneath her.

"Run!" was the order.

She took off running towards the truck, well aware of the fact that Clayton was right behind her and that they would never make it in time. That was her last thought before she stumbled and the ground rushed up and hit her in the face.

* * *

**Bruhahaha.... I'm evil!! Read and review!!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the awesome reviews you guys are giving me. **

**Author's Note: This chapter was originally 11 pages long, which I have no doubt you all would have loved… however, I decided to shorten it to four pages so I wouldn't take the next two weeks trying to edit it. So, you get the first half this chapter today and the next part tomorrow. **

**Author's Note 2:This chapter has yet another cliffhanger. I have a tendency to do that when there is a lot of action or it's a really intense moment. I tried not to do that too much this story, but it happens.**

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**Supernatural**

"**The War To End All Wars"**

**Chapter 7**

Smoke. Heat. Pain. Agony. These were all the things Samuel Winchester associated with crawling back to consciousness an hour after the third and final bomb went off. A deadly fire was spreading its way across the center of the city, heading straight for Dean and Sam. Sam was covered head to toe in dirt, sand, and random house parts that had been blown all over the place when the explosion had occurred. He couldn't move. Hell, he could hardly breathe. How the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one?

He managed to force one eye open and immediately regretted it as the acidic smoke began to burn his eyes. He blinked, his eyes watering, and couldn't see anything except black and orange. It was as though Halloween had come a month early.

"D-de-dean?" Sam managed to get out, coughing horribly as he did so. His chest ached with the effort and his head threatened to split in two. "Dean?"

If there was a reply, he didn't hear it. He was coughing too heavily, due to the smoke that hung in the air, making it impossible to breathe.

"Fuck," Sam whispered as he attempted to pull himself free from the housing parts. Searing pain shot up his leg, reverberating around his knee. His left arm felt as though someone was trying to yank it out of its socket. His chest and stomach felt as though someone were sticking a machete through them.

Slowly and carefully, Sam began to inch his way out from underneath the debris. Each movement brought untold agony to his body and his face contorted into many indescribable expressions, some humorous, some downright scary. At last, after what felt like decades but was actually closer to a half an hour, he was free.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered while attempting to stand. His head felt as though a blunt axe was going through it, trying to split in two. His leg threatened to give out on him at any second.

"S-m?" came a quiet voice.

Sam blinked, startled by the sound of Dean's voice coming from next to a pile of bricks.

"Dean?" Sam called back, coughing again as the smoke burned his lungs. "Where are you?"

"Here," came Dean's descriptive reply. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Richardson?" Sam went into army mode, steeling himself against the pain that was threatening to consume him.

"Okay?" Dean asked. The question was incomplete, but Sam knew what he was asking.

"I'm just peachy," Sam said, coughing and praying that Dean wouldn't hear the obvious lie in his voice. "You?"

"M'head hurts," Dean said, his words becoming clearer. "And m'chest. And m'ankle. I feel like shit, dude."

"Was that a complete sentence?" Sam rasped, spotting Dean amidst the smoke and flames. He was leaning up against what used to be a car but was now a mass of metal and rubber. The part furthest from Dean was already on fire.

"Yeah," Dean said, an embarrassed smile crossing his face. It disappeared instantly when he saw Sam inching his way towards him. "Hell happened?"

"You could say that," Sam attempted to joke. It was lame, but it was the best he could come up with. It earned him an eye roll from Dean at least.

"Happened?" the elder man asked, his voice just as hoarse as Sam's.

"Boom," Sam said, placing his good hand against the already hot metal to balance himself. The world spun alarmingly and he began to lose concentration. Dean's hand on his shoulder brought him back.

"Dude?" Dean's soft, half-question sent Sam into action. There was no way they were going to die here. Not now, not this way. _Screw the pain,_ Sam thought. _We are getting out of here. Alive. Even if I have to carry Richardson out of here_.

"We need to get out of here," Sam said, steeling his mind against the pain that flooded through him with every breath he took. "Can you walk?"

Dean attempted to take a step forward, but ended up pitching face first towards the ground. If Sam hadn't caught him at the last minute, he would be Dean roast. The flames were already beginning to lick at their boots.

"No," Dean whispered, flinching closer to Sam, away from the heat of the flames. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Sam might've laughed at his best friend's fear of fire. Maybe.

"Then I guess I'll have to carry you," Sam said, coughing again. He felt liquid in his mouth. He put his hand up to it, alarmed when he pulled it back and found blood.

"No," Dean protested. He pointed to Sam's leg, which looked mangled, even underneath all the material of his uniform. "Shit."

"Yeah, we're in deep shit," Sam agreed, pretending that Dean wasn't talking about how his leg looked like a pretzel.

"Dude," Dean coughed, sending a glare towards Sam. It would have been more effective if Dean hadn't looked so damn pathetic.

"Let's just go," Sam said, coughing through the smoke. His chest felt as though someone were driving a flaming sword through it every time he inhaled. He knew there was no way he would make it to camp, not without help.

"Can't," Dean wheezed. "Walk."

"I'll help," Sam said, hoping his flinch wasn't too obvious as he put weight on his injured leg and attempted to move his practically destroyed arm.

Dean was too exhausted from the efforts of standing to make too much of a protest. He leaned heavily on Sam, who was making a huge effort not to scream out in agony.

"Man," Dean coughed as Sam began to limp slowly out of the city. "Where's an iPod when you need one? I could seriously use some Kansas or AC-DC right about now."

The words were whispered in between hacks and wheezes, each reverberating through Sam and sending pain crashing through the walls he built against it.

"We could make some music," Sam suggested, pausing for a moment to shift Dean's weight a little.

"_Carry, on my wayward son,_" Dean began, before collapsing into a hacking fit.

Sam coughed as well. The smoke was becoming thicker and oilier. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Every inhalation felt as though someone were trying to rip out Sam's lungs from the inside.

"D-n?" Sam wasn't able to talk more than a syllable anymore.

"S-my?" Dean asked at the same time.

"Okay?" they asked in sync.

Their reply to each other was a simple nod. Talking took too much effort now. The smoke was too thick and their injuries too great.

_Dear god, please let us get out of here alive, _Sam thought.

Sam could hardly stand anymore. His breath was coming in shallow gasps and the ever present pain was increasing with every half-step he was taking. Dean's near dead weight on his upper body only increased the hellish feeling he was experiencing.

They had been walking for close to four hours now and they had barely gone two miles. The camp was a little over ten miles away from the city. Sam knew there was no way in hell he would ever make it.

"S-m?" Dean coughed.

The smoke had cleared considerably when they left the outskirts of the city. Dean had started regaining more alertness as they walked on, a fact Sam was thankful for. The more alert Dean was, the less work Sam would have to do.

"M-fine," Sam muttered, stumbling and nearly falling on his face when a sharp lance of pain shot up his injured leg.

"Yeah, and I'm Madonna," Dean joked weakly, straightening up a little bit. His voice sounded better and he seemed to be willing to walk by himself.

"The resemblance between you two is astonishing," Sam said, his voice still extremely weak and scratchy. "I mean, seriously, when you're in the shower, you can hit the exact same notes she can."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He put weight on his injured leg and grimaced.

"Whatever, jerk," Sam said, catching the look but not commenting on it. He hurt too much from dragging Dean for the past two miles to give a damn anymore. He was so tired.

"Seriously, you okay?" Dean asked, stopping for a moment and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder to halt the taller man's progress.

Sam nearly fell over again. If it hadn't been for Dean's gentle, but firm grip on his shoulder, he would have fallen face first in the dust and not have gotten back up again.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam insisted. "Can we walk now?"

He shuffled forward a few steps, hoping Dean would get the message.

"I thought _I_ was bad about chick flick moments," Dean muttered, catching up to Sam in one step. "Serious-"

Dean broke off in a fit of coughing, one that left him doubled over, gasping for air, and clutching at his chest.

"Dean?" Sam asked, alarmed. One second, they were joking and getting along fine, the next Dean was trying to hack up his lungs.

"I'm-_cough_-fine," Dean got out. "Just a little smoky, that's all."

He stood up and started swaying. It was Sam's turn to support the older man as Dean went from being alert and wide-awake to being passed out in Sam's arms.

"Dean!" Sam groaned, hoping his friend was going to be okay. He put a hand on Dean's head and found it extremely sticky. Alarmed, he pulled his hand back and was horrified to find blood.

He inspected Dean's head a little closer and found a four-inch long gash that looked pretty deep. It was swollen and angry looking, the first signs of an infection. Judging by the way Dean had passed out, Sam also was willing to bet that his friend had a concussion.

"_Shit_," Sam swore as loudly as he could. He coughed heavily as he tried to inhale oxygen into his lungs. "Dean! You've got to wake up! C'mon, man, don't do this to me now! Don't you dare!"

As gently as he could, he set Dean down on the ground, checking for a pulse. He was relieved to find a strong one.

"Dean?" Sam asked, tapping his friend's face lightly with his hand and trying not to give away how freaked to hell he really was. "C'mon, Dean. Sleepy time over."

Dean's response was to cough and stir.

"S-my?" he asked, blinking hazily. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Dude, no sleeping, okay?" Sam said, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders and helping him sit up.

"Guh! Don't do that!" Dean said, his voice weak as he attempted to bat Sam's hands away. "M'head hurts like a bitch!"

"You have a concussion, you idiot," Sam said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "We need to get back to c-c-camp."

Sam was suddenly out of breath. His chest and shoulder felt as though someone was trying to drive a sword through it and he could hardly breathe. Unconsciously, he put one hand up to massage his shoulder.

"Sam? Damn it, Winchester! Look at me! Sammy!"

Dean's worried voice faded away as Sam sank into a dark oblivion.

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**Read and review!! Next update will be tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed it!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the amazing reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: ****This is possibly my favorite chapter in the whole story. It was definitley the easiest to write and I totally love it. It has a slight cliffhanger at the end, but it's really not that intense. Hope you all like this chapter as much as I do. **

**Author's Note 2: This chapter is a large reason as to why the rating is 'M'. I went overboard on the cussing and some of the descriptions. **

**Author's Note 3: There are mentions of abuse in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but they are still there. Do not read if you do not want to. **

**Author's Note 4: I got excited over this chapter so I decided to go ahead and update it. Hope you all are happy!!**

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**Supernatural**

"**The War To End All Wars"**

**Chapter 8**

Sam came to a while later. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark and he was surrounded by four walls of dirt. The second thing was Dean, who was leaning up against the wall opposite of Sam with his eyes squeezed shut and one hand massaging his head.

"Dean?" Sam rasped. Dean's eyes flew open and his head was removed from his head.

"Sammy?" Dean breathed. His relieved beyond words look turned to one of tempered exasperation. "Next time you want me to drag your ass, just ask! You don't have to go and fucking collapse on me!"

"Where are we?" Sam asked, moving to push himself up against the wall with his injured arm. He bit back a few choice swear words and a yelp, shifting his weight onto his good arm.

"In a foxhole," Dean answered, his face softening as he caught the look of pain on Sam's face. "You okay?"

"I've been better," Sam admitted. "You?"

"I feel like I've been run over by a semi," Dean admitted, chuckling slightly. "We sure know how to get into some deep shit, don't we, Sammy?"

"Yeah, we do," Sam said, smirking slightly. The pain that wracked his body was beginning to die down to a dull ache. "How long have we been in here?"

"About two, maybe three hours now," Dean said. He blinked tiredly. "You've been pretty out of it."

"Sorry," Sam muttered. Dean shrugged.

"It's not your fault," he said. "Though next time you want me to carry you, just ask. You don't have to give me a freaking heart attack."

"Sorry," Sam muttered again. "What're we going to do now?"

Dean shrugged again.

"No idea. You look like shit, I feel like shit, and there's no way in hell either of us are moving very fast," he said.

"So we're screwed," Sam said. Dean nodded, rubbing his head as he did so.

"That's the size of it," he said, staring off into the distance. "God, my head hurts. Whoever said concussions were fun was smoking something."

Sam let out a hoarse laugh, rubbing chest. It felt as though he had broken a couple of ribs. Hell, he probably had. Getting blown up wasn't exactly amazing for your health.

"Dude, try to get some sleep," Dean said. "You look like you've gone ten rounds with a block of cement and lost."

"And you look oh so peachy yourself," Sam retorted. "I'll be fine dude. I just forgot what being hurt like this felt like."

Dean shot him a quizzical look, obviously not getting what he was saying. Sam ignored the look and rubbed his chest again.

"If you could own any car in the world, what would it be?" Dean asked randomly. It was Sam's turn to shoot his friend a quizzical look.

"What the hell, man?" he asked. "Why the hell does that matter?"

"I'm bored, I have a concussion, and if I go to sleep, there's no way in hell that I'm waking back up," Dean explained. "So if I keep a conversation going, then I'll be able to concentrate on something other then how awful I feel."

Sam had to admit, it was a good idea. He was quiet for a moment, trying to think of what his car would be.

"I think it would have to be something along the lines of a black GT mustang or a black '67 Chevy Impala," he said after a couple of brief seconds. He turned to Dean. "You?"

Dean let out a soft laugh.

"Dude, I already have my dream car," he said. Sam shot him a questioning look and waited. "It's a 1967 black Chevy Impala."

"You're kidding!" Sam exclaimed, laughing. He winced as the movement hurt his chest and shoulder. "Dude, that's insane!"

"Your turn to ask a question," Dean said, leaning back against the foxhole wall and sighing. "And make it a good one, not something like 'do you believe in love at first sight'. We're not at a girly sleepover."

"No, we're not," Sam agreed, the laughter fading from his face for a moment. He allowed himself a moment to be depressed about their situation, before asking Dean the question he had thought of. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Lawrence, Kansas," Dean said without hesitation. "It's where I grew up and met Cassie. We moved away from there for a few years because Cassie's father ordered it, but I'd give anything to move back there. What about you?"

"I'd live in Lawrence as well," Sam admitted. Dean shot him a surprised look. "It's where my family's from. I was born there and lived the first nine years of my life there. And then…" He trailed off, not willing to finish that sentence.

"And then, what?" Dean asked softly. Sam looked away from his friend, unwilling to answer the question. "Sammy, what's going on?"

Sam stayed quiet, trying to think of how best to avoid the question.

"If you had a deep dark secret," he began. "Would you want to tell anyone? If you knew someone would end up hating you for it, would you tell them?"

Dean was many things, and despite what his friends were always teasing him about, he was not stupid. He had a good perception of people, and could always tell what they were trying to say, even if they said next to nothing. Like now.

"Sam, I could never hate you," he whispered. Sam looked at him for a moment, before looking away again. "And yes, I would tell someone. I would tell the people I trust most. I would trust them not to hate me for it."

"Do you have a dark secret?" Sam whispered in response. He had no idea why they were whispering; there was no one around for miles. But it felt right to whisper this conversation.

"Yes," Dean said after a moment's pause. "I do. Only Cassie and my parents know it."

Sam looked at the older man in surprise. Dean sounded serious; something that rarely happened. He wasn't lying; that much Sam could see in his friend's face.

A shrill whistling sound could be heard, breaking the tense moment between the two. The conversation was instantly forgotten.

"Fuck!" Sam swore, recognizing the sound instantly. It was the sound of an airborne missile.

"Shit," Dean growled, fighting his way into a standing position. His head cleared the top of the foxhole. "It's going to hit the city."

"I thought the Air Force already destroyed the city," Sam said as there was a loud, resonant _boom_ and the entire ground shook. The tightly packed dirt loosened slightly, sending showers of dust down onto Sam and Dean.

"It looks like they're having a second go at it," Dean groused, wincing as another _boom_ occurred. "Man, my head hurts enough as it is. I don't need this on top of it."

"Yeah, I hear you there," Sam said through gritted teeth as the aftershocks of the third bomb rattled his injured leg and chest.

"You okay?" Dean asked again. "I mean, aside from the obvious."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said. "Aside from the fact that we're sitting in an abandoned foxhole with no chance of getting out of here ever and we're both pretty much blown to hell, I'd say I'm fine."

"No need to get bitchy on me, _Samantha_," Dean teased. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he grouched. "If you're going to ask the same question over and over again, then you might as well shut up now."

"Then are you ever going to tell me the real reason why your arm has a nasty scar on it?" Dean asked aimlessly.

Sam blanched, not expecting the question and not able to think of a halfway decent story to tell Dean.

"That wasn't random at all," he said sarcastically.

"Well, you said that I either had to ask another question or to shut up," Dean said. Sam glared at him again.

"I'd prefer if you do the latter," he said, rubbing at his arm again. It was annoying the hell out of him!

"Yeah, well, you're stuck with what you've got," Dean said. "So what happened?"

"I told you," Sam said as another explosion rattled the air. "I tripped and drove a hunting knife through it."

"The angle for a self-inflicted wound is all wrong," Dean said, sitting back down and staring at Sam. "So, what happened?"

Sam was quiet, gathering his thoughts. He looked away from Dean, trying to decide the best way to tell his friend that he had been lying about what type of family he had come from for the past two years in countless different ways.

"My mom died in a house fire when I was nine," Sam began, his voice quiet. "I came home from school and found the house on fire. The flames were already on the second level of the house. They had started in the kitchen. My mom liked to take an afternoon nap in her room, which was located directly above the kitchen. I tried to go in and save her, I really did. I got halfway up the stairs before the flames and smoke became too much. The firefighters barely got me out alive. I had third degree burns on over seventy percent of my body."

Sam was unaware of the fact that Dean had moved next to him until he felt a gentle arm around his shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispered. Sam turned to the older man, surprised to find tears slipping down the haggard, pain-filled face.

"It's okay," Sam said, blinking back his own tears. "My father found out about it and found me at the hospital. I thought he was going to be like he had been for the past nine years of my life; sympathetic and caring. Turns out that was all an act. He blamed me right from the start for my mother's death."

"Oh, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Sam could hardly look at Dean, afraid of what he would find there for what he was about to say.

"It started out with slaps and being ignored," he continued. "And then, as I got older and my dad started getting more and more drunk, the slaps became blows. More than once, I ended up with a black eye at school. My teachers began to ask questions and then we started moving around. The blows continued, even when my dad got remarried. Then, one day, about three and a half years ago, they suddenly stopped."

"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice taut and angry, but there was an immeasurable sadness in there too. Sam couldn't meet his friend's gaze.

"He met Janet," he whispered. "Janet was the best step-mother I ever had. I don't even know how my dad hooked up with someone like her. They dated for six months before they got married. She had a daughter named Corrine, who was just as nice as her mother. I was really happy. My dad was happy, he was actually being civil, Janet was great, and Corrine was extremely cool. Those six months were the best of my life."

"Then what happened?" Dean prompted quietly when Sam didn't go on.

Sam tried to draw in a deep breath, but his ribs shrieked in protest. He flinched, causing Dean to draw him closer to him. Sam didn't flinch away from the contact; it was nice.

"Janet and my dad got married. The wedding was beautiful. It was in the middle of the fall. Dad actually let me invite my friends to this wedding. So I invited Joshua and Jess, who I had been dating ever since Janet met my dad. I also invited a couple of my friends from school. It was fun. Someone brought alcohol in a flask and started putting it in all the drinks of the teenagers. Corrine and Jess really hit it off. And then, Joshua had a little too much of the alcohol and started hitting on everyone, Corrine, Jess… any thing that was female and had two legs."

"Janet included," Dean finished sourly. Sam nodded his head, feeling the tears begin to slide down his face. It hurt. The memory of the hunting knife sliding into his skin, the memory of his father's face as he began to blackout, Janet threatening to leave and then actually doing so at the hospital…

"My dad had a little too much champagne at the wedding. He got pissed off at Joshua and started going after him. I got in between them, took Joshua home before the idiot could do something that all of us would regret," Sam said, the tears beginning to flow faster down his face. He heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Dean.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered. He seemed to know what was coming next, but Sam forced himself to continue.

"Joshua's wife wasn't home and Joshua was locked out of the house, so I let him come home with me, thinking Janet would calm my dad down. I should have known better. If a Winchester walks under a ladder, the entire thing will come down on them. We have the worst luck imaginable. My dad was furious, Janet was crying, and Corrine was trying to calm both of them down. And then, out of nowhere, my dad pulls out this wicked Bowie knife and goes after Joshua. Being the idjit I am, as Joshua told me from then on, I got in between them. My dad dragged the knife from my left shoulder to my right hip, before pulling the weapon out."

"I'm going to kill him!" Dean swore. "I'm going to hunt him down, put a bullet in his brain and then resurrect him and do it all over again! And then, I might stab him just for kicks too! But I'm going to kill him. What happened after that?"

Somewhat cheered by his friend's support, Sam attempted another steadying breath. It brought out the stabbing pain in his chest and knee.

"Sam?"

Sam turned to Dean, blinking somewhat lazily. He was so tired. He blinked, before leaning his head on Dean's shoulder.

"Janet called the hospital after a huge fight with my dad," he mumbled. He hurt all over. Breathing hurt, blinking hurt, hell, even his hair hurt. "I nearly bled out. Joshua was knocked out by my dad. I fell into unconsciousness with Janet and Corrine begging me to hold on. When I came to again, I was in the hospital with ten different types of medication and my dad wasn't there. Janet was and she told me she was leaving my dad, that she couldn't stand to be around a man that did that to his own son and didn't apologize. She asked me if he had done this to me before and I lied, telling her that this was the first time he had ever done it. She begged me to come with her and Corrine, but then, my dad came and told them to get out or he was calling the police. On his own wife! Then, he punched me in the face, broke my nose, and I didn't see him for a year."

"Oh god, Sammy," Dean murmured, running his fingers through Sam's shortly cropped hair. "I am so sorry. Why didn't you tell me before now?"

"I was worried what you'd think," he muttered against Dean's shirt. "I couldn't stand knowing the only reason why you put up with me was because you felt sorry for me. Or if you hated me because of what that son of a bitch did to me."

"Shit, Sammy," Dean rasped. "I would never do that. I could never do that."

He put his hand on Sam's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"You told me that you had a deep dark secret," Sam murmured, sitting up a bit more. He remembered parts of the conversation they were having before their world literally blew up again. "I told you mine. What's yours?"

"It's really not that dark, but I don't really like to talk about it anyway. My name hasn't always been Dean Richardson," Dean said, looking away from Sam. "When I was four years old, I had two loving parents, a big house in Lawrence, and a baby brother who was six months old. Then, a fire happened in my baby brother's nursery on the night of his sixth month birthday. My mother was in there at the time, as was my baby brother. There was nothing my dad or I could do to save them. My dad was a mess and he could hardly look after himself, let alone me. So he gave me up, put me in with social services, and I never saw him again."

"Dean," Sam whispered, unable to fight the tears. "I am so sorry."

Dean shook his head and buried his face in his arms. From the gentle shake of his shoulders, Sam could tell he was crying. It was his turn to comfort the older man. Uncertain of what to do, he put his uninjured arm around Dean's shoulders; just as another bomb hit the ground just outside of their foxhole. Sam let out a grunt of pain as the ground shook violently and he was thrown up against the wall.

"D-Dean?" he called, looking for his friend. He had been thrown away from Dean in the blast.

"Sammy?" came a quiet cough, about a yard away from where Sam was sitting.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, inching his way toward where Dean's voice had come from. Each movement brought untold agony to his leg and chest.

"I don't think so," Dean whispered. Sam reached out with his hand and found Dean, laying on the ground. He had been thrown when the bomb had hit the ground.

Sam felt his hand hit something wet as he touched Dean's shoulder. Alarmed, he pulled his hand back and found it drenched in blood.

"Shit, Richardson," he swore. He inched closer, ignoring the pain in his own body. He spotted something gleaming out of Dean's shoulder and knew what it was instantly; bomb shrapnel. Dean had been hit by a piece of the broken bomb.

"What is it, W-Winchester?" Dean coughed, letting out a soft groan when Sam prodded his shoulder.

Deciding that telling Dean that there was a very good possibility that the older man would die, Sam opted for lying and telling Dean that he was going to be fine, that they were going to get the hell out of there alive.

"Just a small scratch, that's all," Sam rasped, glad that his voice was too hoarse to be able to discern the difference between the truth and a lie. "I thought it was worse than it was."

"Y-you s-suck at l-lying, Winchester," Dean coughed, his hand searching for Sam's. Sam took it gratefully, glad for the contact.

"You're going to get out of here alive, Richardson," he said. "That's an order. And even if I have to drag your ass all the way to camp, you are going to live. I don't care what you say or do; I am not giving up on you."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean whispered, his voice sounding forced and awful. "Thanks for not giving up on me when everyone else already has."

"Shut up, Richardson," Sam ordered softly, fighting back tears. "Save your voice. We need to get the hell out of here."

"Can't walk," Dean said, his voice weak and scratchy. He coughed again and this time, Sam felt his friend's wince.

"That's okay, I can," Sam lied again, his voice as raspy as Dean's. Dean shot him a glare through half-mast eyes.

"Liar," Dean coughed. "Last time you tried walking, you fainted on me."

"I do not faint," Sam teased weakly. "I am too manly to faint. And I can walk better than you can at this point, so just shut the hell up."

Dean moved his uninjured shoulder and lifted his hand in a tired mock salute. His eyes were beginning to droop shut. Sam knew that if he didn't get Dean to a medic soon, his friend could die.

"Whatever, bitch," Dean rasped. "But if we both die of exposure out there because you fall flat on your ass, I'm coming back and haunting your sorry ass."

Sam let out a weak laugh, before bracing himself against the wall of the foxhole and slowly stood up. His legs shook horribly and pain lanced through him, pushing him towards the edge of unconsciousness. How he wanted to just give up and sleep.

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice brought him back. Sam blinked down at his friend, somewhat unseeing of the whole situation. He caught the worry in Dean's eyes.

"I'm fine, Dean," he whispered, not able to manage a louder voice. "Just give me a second."

Dean continued to stare at him, the worry growing stronger the longer Sam stood there, not doing anything.

"Sam," Dean began uncertainly. "I, uh, hell, I hate chick flick moments. Cassie is always teasing me at how awful I am at them."

Sam let out a weak chuckle, pain coursing through him at the simple movement. How the hell was he supposed to get himself and Dean out of this damn foxhole and all the way back to camp? He didn't think he could take a single step forward without falling on his face, let alone miles across the hot blistering landscape.

"Dean, I'm fine, really," he whispered again. Knowing what Dean was really trying to ask, he added, "I'm completely over my dad being the worst father imaginable to me. I got over it when I decided to go off and join the army."

"That must have been one hell of a fight," Dean commented softly. Sam had told him that his father was a proud Marine and that father and son had had a huge falling out when Sam told him that he was going to join the army. Sam had left out the important tidbits such as that that was the night his father made one last attempt at killing him and if it hadn't been for Joshua and Gordon Walker, another one of his friends, he would have never made it to basic training three weeks afterwards.

"It involved lots of fire," Sam supplied, feeling his equilibrium balance and the pain slowly fade to a dull, throbbing, ache. He ignored the look of horror that crossed Dean's face, not wanting to dwell on the memory of smoke and intense heat. It reminded him too much of the current reality, which he was trying to avoid as much as possible. "But now's not the time to talk about it. We're going home, if it's the last thing we do."

"We're eventually going to talk about this," Dean warned, coughing again.

Sam smiled sadly, before attempting to pull himself out of the foxhole. Its low wall shouldn't have presented as much of a challenge as it did.

Sam attempted to put more of his weight on his injured leg and swore loudly when it buckled underneath him, white hot pain coursing through him as he did so.

"Holy fuck!" he yelled. As if in response, another explosion rattled the night. If he had been sitting down, the molten hot shrapnel wouldn't have hit him straight in the stomach, sending him falling backwards onto his already injured leg.

Dean had been knocked out by the latest bomb and was unaware to Sam's shouting, cursing, and flat-out crying.

"SHIT! DAMN IT! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!" he screamed, flipping off the sky. A single tear escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheek as he moved his injured leg out from underneath him. He let out another strangled yell of pain as he did so.

"Fuck," he grunted, trying to breathe through the pain. Each breath brought him closer and closer to unconsciousness.

Catching sight of Dean, deep in a state of unconsciousness, was the thing that made Sam grit his teeth and focus more. He would not let his friend die, not on his watch. They were getting out of here, even if Sam killed himself in the process.

"Screw pain," he yelled to no one in particular. Biting his lip, Sam began to pull himself into a standing position again. Black dots swarmed his vision and he let out a gasp as he put weight on his injured leg, but he refused to be beaten back down.

Finally, after what seemed like days of hard work, but was really only an hour, Sam pulled himself into a standing position. He leaned against the wall of the foxhole, ignoring the stabbing pain in his gut, leg, and chest and not even thinking about the pain in his head. Next came the hard part; getting both Dean and himself out of the foxhole.

Looking around for a sign of any sort that someone was out there watching over him and receiving none, Sam bit his lip again, ignoring the blood that began welling up on it when he bit down too hard. He leaned down and blinked away the black spots and wrapped his arms underneath Dean's armpits.

"This is going to hurt like hell, and I'm sorry, Richardson," Sam rasped, his voice spent from yelling at no one. "But suck it up and take it like a man because we are going to get the fuck out of here. "

The only response he received was a pain-filled groan.

"That's about how I'm feeling right about now, too," he agreed. "But we have to get out of here."

**

* * *

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Hope you guys enjoyed it!! Read and review!! The next update will be next weekend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the wonderful reviews you guys are giving me. **

**Author's Note: Sorry this is so late in updating. I had computer difficulties and I had to rewrite this chapter because the last version of this completely sucked. **

**Author's Note 2: This is mostly a Joshua-centric chapter… I couldn't really write anything from Sam's POV for this. I will have more of him in the next chapter.**

**Author's Note 3: We are a little over halfway done with this story. Just thought I'd give you all a heads-up.**

**

* * *

**

Supernatural

"_**The War To End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 9**

Sam leaned heavily on Dean as they limped across the hot desert sand like contenders in a three-legged race. Sam's injured leg had stopped responding to what Sam needed it to do and it now dragged behind them, leaving a thin trail in the sand.

Dean had woken up two days prior, confused and disoriented. He had remained that way for about a day and a half, before he finally snapped out of it. Sam didn't remember what exactly had happened, but he did remember himself slipping into unconsciousness and waking up sometime later to Dean dragging him across the desert and cussing him out at the same time. That had been a little over an hour ago.

"Damn it," Dean muttered as Sam stumbled over his injured leg and nearly fell. Dean supported him easily. "Why did Clayton have to choose _us_ for the center of the city patrol?"

"Because Clayton's a jackass," Sam mumbled, leaning even more of his weight on Dean. "And because we're too damn amazing for our own good."

"I don't know about you," Dean teased, wincing as Sam's hand brushed against his injured shoulder. "But I know I'm pretty damn awesome. Clayton's nuts to think you're anything close to me."

Sam rolled his eyes and stuck his dry tongue out at Dean.

"Jerk," he muttered. Dean smirked.

"Bitch," he replied. "How you holding up, Sammy?"

"Is that a trick question?" Sam rasped, wincing as his injured leg got caught in a hole. He would have fallen if it hadn't been for Dean's steadying hands on his shoulders.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean said with a soft sigh. "Would it kill you to stop being so damn stubborn all the fucking time?"

"Yeah," Sam said, smirking ever so slightly. Dean rolled his eyes in return. "I'm fine, Dean. Really."

"Yeah, and I'm the tooth fairy," the elder man grumbled. "Next time you get yourself nearly killed, stay put, okay? I'll come find you and drag your sorry ass out of there."

"Dude, you would look awful in a tutu. And you were pretty much unconscious when I found you and there was a fire on your ass," Sam said, attempting to stand up straighter. He nearly fell on his face again. "What did you expect me to do, let you burn into a crisp? Become Dean Roast? Cause that wasn't going to happen. So quit your bitching already."

"Someone gets grumpy when they're tired," Dean commented. He winced as he moved his injured arm to brush sand out of his eyes.

"You okay?" Sam asked. Dean looked at him incredulously.

"I'm fine, dude. I, at least, can walk, which is more than I can say for your sorry ass."

Sam rolled his eyes and yawned heavily. The pain in his leg increased in intensity and he swore when he attempted to move it underneath him.

"Fuck," he muttered. Dean looked at him, concern pouring off of him in waves.

"That's it, Sammy," he said. "The next foxhole we find, we're stopping in it. I don't care how damn close we are to the camp. You are going to rest, even if it kills you."

* * *

Joshua was beyond worried. Saying that he was worried was like saying that it was only slightly cold in Antarctica. Clayton and his patrol had gotten back a week before, without Richardson and Winchester. There had been a rash of bombs hidden throughout the city, scheduled to go off at any pressure on certain buildings. All it would take was one of the censors to go off and all of them would go off. There had been three all together. At first they had been thought of the Air Force's bombs, but when the Air Force had called and told them they had rescheduled their bombs to go off at a later date, a team of bomb experts had determined what had really happened.

Harvelle had broken her arm when the third bomb had occurred about ten yards away from where Clayton and Harvelle had been standing in the first place. Clayton had ended up with a concussion and a broken nose. The broken nose was not from the explosion itself, it was from Singer punching him in the nose after Clayton refused to let Reeves and Singer go after Richardson and Winchester. Upon hearing that, Joshua nearly decked Clayton himself, but figured since he was a medical professional; it wouldn't be a good thing to have to reset someone's already broken nose.

Joshua was sitting in the medic tent, staring off into space and debating whether or not to go and make sure Harvelle and Clayton were okay. Those two were down right stupid, like everyone else in the army, when it came to admitting injury. If they were in pain, they'd just suck it up and get on with it, consequences be damned.

"Whitely?"

The sound of Jackson's quiet voice broke Joshua out of his thoughts. Joshua turned to face the company clerk.

"Yeah, Jackson?" Joshua asked, standing up. He couldn't quite squash the tiny bud of hope growing in his chest as he asked, "Is there any news on Richardson and Winchester?"

"No, sir, I'm sorry," Jackson said, looking down at his feet. "But there is other news." It had been a week, and everyone was beginning to feel the loss of Richardson and Winchester. Hell, even Smith and Ryan weren't as big as assholes anymore. They were quiet and subdued now.

"What is it?" Joshua asked urgently. "Is it Clayton? Harvelle? Are they okay?"

"They're fine," Jackson said hurriedly. "It's about the Air Force. They're scheduled to bomb the city the day after tomorrow."

"Damn it! No! They can't do that! Richardson and Winchester are still out there! They'll be killed!" Joshua angrily began pacing the medical tent, wishing not for the first time in the past hour that Winchester and Richardson were alive and safe at the camp, playing a practical joke on Smith and Ryan or doing calisthenics in the center of camp.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jackson squeaked, alarmed. He had obviously never seen gentle, even-tempered Joshua Whitely, camp medic, get so pissed off about something. "But that's not all."

"What the hell?" Joshua demanded, his voice rising.

"We're getting ready to move the camp somewhere further away from the city," Jackson said, looking down at the ground. "Seeing as the Air Force is going to bomb this place into oblivion."

"So we are leaving Richardson and Winchester to _die_?" Joshua shouted. "Are you fucking people on fucking crack? There is no way in hell that I'm leaving them out there to fucking die! That is _not_ a damn option!"

"I'm s-so-sorry," Jackson stammered, his voice a squeak. "But they're direct orders from Clayton."

Was it only three days ago that Joshua was telling Winchester that he couldn't disobey a direct order? What a hypocrite Joshua was turning out to be.

"Where the hell is Singer?" Joshua asked, lowering his voice a notch. "I need to talk to him."

Jackson seemed to get the thought that was running through the medic's head, for he shook his head and readjusted his wire-framed glasses.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he was put in charge of getting everything together for the move. He's probably packing up his tent," Jackson said. "Clayton gave the entire company direct orders not to talk to Singer, Reeves, or Harvelle and to keep them separated as much as possible."

There had been a lot of talk between the three of going after Richardson and Winchester, since they got back to camp. Joshua wasn't really surprised that Clayton had finally ordered them apart, but still…

"That's bull shit!" Joshua shouted. Jackson flinched and somewhere deep down, Joshua felt faintly guilty for scaring him. The guy was only trying to do his job; it wasn't _his_ fault that Richardson and Winchester were missing and presumed dead. Hell, in a couple of hours they _would_ be dead.

"Whitely, I'm sorry, I really am," Jackson said. "There's nothing I can do. Clayton will court marshal anyone who's not ready to go within the next twenty minutes. I have to help the kitchen staff pack up their gear."

"Leave it," Joshua growled. "It will only help the Air Force blow the place up faster. That stuff is explosive anyway."

Jackson gave a faint smile before looking over his shoulder briefly. He dug into his pockets and produced a small key ring with a car key hanging from it. He tossed it to Joshua, who caught it, staring at Jackson in surprise.

"There's an ancient jeep in the back of the compound," Jackson explained. "It's old, but it runs. Clayton won't be looking for it. You have a little over an hour to find Winchester and Richardson and get the hell out of there, or otherwise, you're dead. Try to find Jo's brother, Bob, and his wife, Ellen. They're medics at the 4063 MASH unit. They're located near the city, if they haven't already moved yet. If you can't find Richardson and Winchester, join up with them. They'll keep you safe."

"What are you going to do when Clayton comes looking for me?" Joshua asked, touched by the company clerk's thoughtfulness.

"I'm going to tell him that I don't know anything," Jackson said. "And that the entire thing was Singer's idea. Crazy idjit has been going on about stealing the jeep for weeks. Winchester, Richardson, and Singer were going to steal it and go AWOL for a couple of weeks."

"What?" Joshua said, fighting back a chuckle. "That's crazy!"

"That's the three musketeers for you," Jackson said with a sad smile. "Anyway, it has a full tank of gas. Please, get them back safely. And take Singer with you!"

"Will do, Jackson," Joshua said. "If there's anything I can do for you…"

"Just get Winchester and Richardson back safely," Jackson said, turning to leave. "Please. That's all I want."

"I'll do that, Jackson," Whitely promised. "And get Singer's ass in here for me!"

"Will do, Whitely," Jackson said, exiting the tent.

Joshua twirled the key to the ancient truck around his finger, trying to decide what he would need to take. If he and Singer would be joining up with the 4063rd, then he wouldn't have to take very many medical supplies. He decided to take a couple of bottles of water and enough rations to last a couple of days for two people. He had all those supplies already in his tent, so he set about finding them.

Twenty minutes later, Singer walked into his tent and coughed to announce his presence. Joshua looked up and tossed his now full duffel bag to Singer.

"You want to come with me to find Richardson and Winchester?" he asked. Singer's eyes widened.

"Joshua, you can't be serious," he said.

"I can and I am," Joshua said grimly. "The Air Force is going to bomb this place into oblivion and Clayton isn't going to order a search and rescue for them. As far as he's concerned, they're dead. He may be right, he may not be. I have to find out, though. Jess will kill me if Winchester doesn't make it, and I for one, value my life. Now, are you with me?"

Singer was quiet for a moment, thinking it over in his mind. It didn't take him very long. He nodded once.

"Hell yeah," he said. Joshua almost smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the kickass reviews you all are giving me.**

**Author's Note: Normally, I try my hardest not to say anything about the most recent episode of **_**Supernatural**_** out of respect for those of you who haven't seen it yet, but I have to say, that the end of the latest episode was so powerful, I was crying at the end of it. I am so mad at Kripke right now for making us wait till January 15****th****, 200**_**9**_** to watch the next episode. All those in favor of going on strike, petition is being written right now (haha, just kidding).**

**Author's Note 2: I seriously have no idea where the hell this chapter came from. I was writing a completely different story-line one second and then the next, I was writing the last chapter. Then, today (yes, I wrote this in one day, it was that easy to write), I just sat down and wrote. This chapter flowed together better than I expected, and I have to say, it's one of my favorites. I personally really like it. I hope you all are of the same opinion.**

**Author's Note 3: These are all really long author's notes tonight, but I feel like talking to you guys and reminding you how wonderful you all really are. Thank you so much for reviewing this story. It means a lot to me that you take time out of your day to read and review my story. It is all greatly appreciated and the chapters I am in love with are dedicated to you all. **

**Author's Note 4: I hope you all have a good Turkey Day for those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, and for those of you who don't, have an awesome week. I might not be updating next weekend, due to a recent thing that is occurring in my life this weekend that will take up most of my time for the rest of my life. I am moving my horse to a new barn where I can ride her any time I want, so I will be riding her more often. Also, I will not have nearly as much time to write awesome chapters, but I will do my best to get these out to you all regularly.**

**Supernatural**

"**The War To End All Wars"**

**Chapter 10**

* * *

True to his word, Dean stopped at the next foxhole they came to. Sam was more than grateful for the chance to sit down; it was becoming harder and harder to put up the front that everything was fine. Dean hadn't said anything about Sam's obvious lie, but Sam had noticed that he was walking less and less and Dean was becoming slower and slower.

"Dude, you're _h-heavy_!" Dean complained as Sam slid to the ground. The elder man was quick to follow, sighing deeply.

"S-sorry," Sam rasped, blinking tiredly. He had too much on his mind to even think about sleeping though.

"S' n-not your fault," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes and putting his good arm over his eye. "M' j-just really tired. And you eat too much. Maybe that is your fault."

Sam would have given even a small smile if he hadn't been so damn tired.

"S-shit," he whispered, moving his injured leg a little too much. Dean moved his arm and shot him a look of tired concern.

"W-what is it?" he asked, yawning heavily. He closed his eyes for a brief second before reopening them and staring at Sam directly, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"N-nothing, man," Sam said, yawning as well. Dean shot him a disbelieving look. "S-seriously… it's n-not in-important."

"T-there you g-go again," Dean muttered moodily. "A-always d-downplaying your injuries to make s-sure no one worries about you. D-do you know how annoying that is?"

"Do you?" Sam countered, not putting any real heat behind his words. It would have taken too much energy, energy he didn't have.

"I…" Dean trailed off, coughing heavily. Sam watched in alarm as his friend drew his now blood covered hand away from his mouth

"W-when did you start coughing up b-blood?" he rasped. All thoughts of his current exhaustion were thrown out of his mind as he inched his way closer to where Dean was sitting. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him.

"About an hour ago," Dean admitted, his voice hoarse and as raspy as Sam's now. He let out one last blood-filled cough before falling silent.

"Damn it," Sam swore, clenching his good hand angrily. "Why the hell did you tell me?"

"W-what could you have done?" Dean whispered, leaning his head back and trying to breathe more easily. "I'm f-fine, Sammy. Don't worry about me."

"I-it's Sam, you jerk," he replied, yawning and rubbing at his injured shoulder. It still hurt, even though the rest of him was beginning to go numb.

"B-bitch," Dean coughed.

* * *

Joshua tapped the steering wheel of the ancient jeep nervously as he waited for Bill and Ellen Harvelle from the 4063rd to come out of the supply tent. Singer and he had arrived at the MASH unit five minutes before. Jackson had called ahead and told Bob and Ellen that Joshua and Singer were coming and why they were coming.

Joshua hoped they weren't already too late. He wasn't sure if he would have the strength to keep going if he knew that his best friend wouldn't be there for him anymore. He had already come too close to losing Sam twice; he wasn't going to try for three.

"How far away is the city from your camp?" Bill asked as he climbed into the jeep. Ellen was close behind, carrying a large, olive green, army issue duffel bag. She tossed it to Singer, who caught it easily. He placed it on the floorboard.

"About ten miles east of camp," Singer answered. He turned to look at Bob, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Why?"

"We'll start at the city itself and then head back towards your camp. It's the easiest way to find Winchester and Richardson if they're still alive," Bill replied.

"What if they didn't go in the direction of the camp?" Singer asked. Joshua turned to look at Bill as well, interested to hear the answer to the question.

Bill shrugged.

"We better hope they went in the correct direction," he said grimly. "But we're not going to be certain until you put the key in the ignition and put the pedal to the metal and go."

Joshua would have smirked if the situation hadn't been so serious. He turned back to the front of the jeep and started the ancient vehicle. He made sure there was no one behind or in front of him before flooring the jeep and steering it easily out of the MASH camp.

* * *

Dean's hand brushed against Sam's. Sam blinked lazily, not having the energy to do much else. Dean looked at him in concern.

"O-okay?" Dean rasped.

They had given up the effort of speaking in full sentences nearly two hours before, when the lack of water finally caught up to them. They hadn't really noticed it before; adrenaline had kept it at bay. But since they had stopped moving, it really hit them.

Sam blinked and nodded ever so slightly. He was slightly worse off than Dean; he might not have been coughing up blood, but he couldn't really talk, either.

"Y-yeah, r-right," Dean whispered. Sam blinked again, sighing softly.

"Y-you o-okay, De?" he rasped, wincing as the effort tore at his already burning throat. He coughed once to try and get the dust he had inhaled out of his throat.

"I-I'm f-fine, S-Sammy," Dean replied, his voice no stronger than a whisper. "I'm b-better o-off t-than y-you a-at a-any r-rate."

"D-due, s-seriously," Sam coughed. "I'm n-not t-the o-one c-coughing up b-blood."

He glared weakly at Dean, who merely rolled his eyes in response. Sam sighed, wincing at the strain it put on his ribs. He looked away, staring at the wall of the foxhole and wondering if they were ever going to get out of there alive.

* * *

The sun was going down early, due to the huge storm clouds moving in from the west. Joshua eyed them worriedly, knowing that if they did find Winchester and Richardson, they wouldn't be able to helicopter them out of there if they needed it. The winds and lightning strikes that accompany the desert storms would tear a metal helicopter apart.

"Head east for about a mile and then drive south until you see a foxhole!" Bill called from the back. "There's a foxhole about three and a half miles from your camp. That's where they might be!"

Joshua, Bill, Ellen, and Singer had all been searching for Winchester and Richardson for half an hour now and had had some luck. Singer had spotted a trail of footprints that hadn't been brushed away by wind yet. They had been heading in the general direction that Joshua was now driving. Everyone was hopeful that the footprints belonged to Winchester and Richardson, not someone more sinister.

"How long till we reach it, Harvelle?" Joshua called back. The wind was beginning to pick up, making conversation nearly impossible over the roaring of the engine and the constant bomb craters that littered the desert.

"About twenty minutes if you keep this pace up!" Bill yelled. All of a sudden, a huge _bang_ like a gunshot sounded and Joshua lost control of the car when the front wheel flattened. He attempted to keep it level, but failed miserably.

"Joshua! Let go of the steering wheel!" Singer shouted, just as the jeep turned on to its side and everything went black.

* * *

Sam couldn't breathe. It hurt too much and every time he succeeded in his mission of drawing in oxygen; he received a mouthful of grime and nearly choked on it. Dean wasn't faring much better; his coughing had increased and the blood was darkening in color.

The sky was beginning to turn black as the storm clouds above reached the foxhole. The air temperature was starting to cool. The air seemed to crackle. All signs of an impending storm.

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. Beside Sam, Dean let out a hoarse cough.

"S-shit," he heard the older man whisper. Sam didn't have the energy to turn his head three centimeters to the right to see what had happened to Dean. He barely had the energy to keep breathing.

"D-?" he whispered, unable to get out anything more than a syllable.

"S-Sam-my?" Dean rasped, his voice even harsher with alarm. Sam felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Even though it was feather-light, it sent another wave of pain crashing through him.

Stabbing pains shot up Sam's uninjured arm as he fought to breathe. The world seemed to be spinning around him as the pains made their way to his chest.

"C-can't breathe!" he gasped out before the entire world was suddenly on fire, both inside and out.

"Sammy?" Dean was no longer coughing, but his voice was high with alarm as a deep, resounding explosion shattered what little peace they had left.

"SAM!" Dean screamed.

* * *

Joshua fought his way back to consciousness, wincing as he attempted to move his right wrist and failed miserably. Urging himself to do so, he tried forcing his eyes open. He wished he hadn't succeeded.

The jeep had completely flipped onto one side, crushing the driver's side of the vehicle. Joshua's wrist had gotten pinned beneath the steering wheel and was what took up most of his cloudy vision. The bone was sticking out of the skin and it was dripping blood slowly down onto his nose.

"Gah," he exclaimed as he tried to move. He felt a hand brush up against his shoulder. "B-Bill?"

"Yeah, Josh, it's me."

Singer spoke softly as another hand brushed his shoulder.

"We're going to get you out," a semi-familiar feminine voice said. Joshua instantly remembered that it was Ellen. That was two out of the three people who had been with him that were accounted for.

"Where's S-Singer?" he said, surprised at how strong his voice was. His throat was on fire. It probably had something to do with the mouth full of dirt he had swallowed.

"He's on the other side of the jeep, getting ready to push it over," Ellen said, brushing his shoulder again. Joshua internally flinched as it brought out a dull ache. "But first, I'm going to have to reset your shoulder. You pulled it out of place when the jeep flipped."

"Okay," Joshua said, blinking rain out of his eyes. He just realized that the storm that had been threatening to hit had finally started. He heard a distant rumble of thunder in the distance.

"We have to hurry," Bill murmured. "Joshua said we only had an hour. It's been forty-five minutes."

"Damn it!" came the loud exclamation from Singer. He sounded angry and Joshua could relate. Fifteen minutes until the world around them literally went to hell.

"Hurry up!" Ellen ordered briskly. "We don't have time to dawdle."

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Singer snapped. "On the count of three."

Joshua barely heard the count off. He was too busy thinking about how little time they had left to find Winchester and Richardson. He distinctly remembered being pinned by his wrist one moment and then being freed from the steering wheel the next.

Bill and Singer helped him up, both being careful not to aggravate the wounded wrist any further.

"You okay, Whitely?" Bill asked, gently poking at Joshua's wrist. Joshua winced, but let the man wrap an ace bandage around it. They had nothing else; all the supplies they packed were for Richardson and Winchester.

"I'll be fine," Joshua snapped, shrugging off the anxious hand that was placed on his shoulder. "We have a little over ten minutes to find Richardson and Winchester before we're all bombed to hell. I don't know about you guys, but I certainly want to find them! Now is the jeep okay?"

"It's army issue," Singer said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't think a tank could take out one of these babies!"

He patted the dirty green, dented piece of crap and Joshua smiled.

"Well, that's one good thing that's happened today," he said. As if contesting that statement, a loud ominous _boom_ rattled the area.

"We have to hurry," Ellen said, worry flooding her voice. "That was the first of the bombs."

"Shit," Joshua said, hopping into the driver's seat again. Bill and Singer glared at him until he moved into the passenger's seat and let Singer take the wheel.

"Let's do this thing," Singer said through gritted teeth.

Bill climbed into the back along with Ellen and then they drove off.

* * *

Sam was dying. He realized this as the first drops of rain began to hit his face and the bombs coming from somewhere nearby exploded around them. Dean was begging for him to hold on, but he doubted that he would be able to. It hurt too much.

It wasn't a bad way to die, dying out here when it was raining in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was kind of peaceful. It wasn't as painful as he thought it was going to be; it was more like fading away.

"Damn it, Sammy!" Dean yelled, breaking through Sam's peace. The older man sounded seriously distressed. Sam wished there was something he could do for him; Dean had been an amazing friend, but it was Sam's time. Besides, going back, trying to help Dean, it would bring back all the pain he had managed to forget.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again.

Sam felt something hard hit his chest. He couldn't help himself, he coughed, and let his eyes flutter open.

"Sam, you with me?" Dean asked, letting worry surge through his voice. Sam realized that it was the first time he had ever heard Dean so worried about something. He also realized he was lying flat on his back, something he hadn't been doing when he had blacked out.

"De-?" he whispered, fighting back the urge to scream as another wave of pain rolled over him.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me," Dean whispered, squeezing his hand. "Your heart wasn't beating and you had stopped breathing… I didn't know what to do."

Dean was scared. He could hear it in his friend's voice, the way he kept going on and on about not knowing what to do. Sam felt guilty for scaring Dean like that, but he couldn't breathe.

"De," he whispered again, trying his hardest to hang onto consciousness. _For Dean_, he told himself. _If nothing else, hang on for Dean_.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice barely above a raspy whisper.

"Can't," Sam tried. He swallowed as best he could and attempted a deep breath. He let out a small whimper when pain flooded through him again.

"Can't what?" Dean demanded. He was scared again. Sam could tell as he started slipping away again. He heard Dean call his name one more time before he finally faded into a state of permanent unconsciousness.

"Sam!" Dean screamed as he watched his friend close his eyes. The hand Dean had been squeezing for dear life was now limp in his hand, with just the slightest hint of a pulse. He held onto it, knowing that if he let go, he'd lose Sam for good.

Dean felt tears slide down his face and mingle with the pouring rain that was already there. He didn't have the energy to fight against them. They were coming too quickly. He sniffed once, trying to get himself under control, when he heard it.

It came from far off, nearly lost in the sound of an exploding bomb even further away, but it was there. No matter how faint, Dean caught the yell.

"Richardson! Winchester!"

His breath caught in his parched throat. Could it be? Was it really…? No, Dean decided. It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. There was no way that could be...

The screeching of brakes and boots stomping over to the edge of the foxhole, followed by an all too familiar face detested that theory.

"Bobby?"

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_ or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story are the wonderful reviews you all are giving me. **

**Author's Note: I really don't know what to think about this chapter. To be honest, it was a hard one to write and I think I might have lost it a little. I know I didn't do as good of job writing the action at the end... but I hope I will make up for it in the next chapter. This was all written in Dean's POV, which I have always found difficult in the other stories I have been writing. Hope you all aren't too disappointed with this chapter.**

**Author's Note 2: This chapter is up earlier than normal. I have no clue as to why it is so early, but I finished it way ahead of schedule and I really didn't want to look at it any more or otherwise I would have completely deleted it and spent the next three weeks writing a new chapter. Hope you all don't mind the change in schedule. **

**Author's Note 3: I have thought up of an interesting twist to this story, one that will add yet another layer to all the drama and excitement going on. I might put it to a vote, because I'm not entirely certain of whether or not I want to write it... it would add at least three extra chapters on to the story and probably make great material for a sequel... but I'm not sure. Check my profile for the poll.**

**As always, read and review!!**

**Supernatural**

**"The War To End All Wars"**

**Chapter 11 **

Dean blinked the rainwater out of his eyes, staring in shock at the man above him. How the hell did Bobby end up finding him and Sam, out here, in the middle of nowhere in the god damn forsaken desert? If Dean knew anything about Clayton, this search and rescue had been completely against command and Bobby generally wasn't one not to follow commands. So, what the hell happened?

"Wow, Richardson," Bobby said, raising an eyebrow. "You sure know how to get into some deep shit."

As if in agreement, a resonant burst of thunder filled the sky. There was someone yelling behind Bobby and the older man turned to yell back for a moment. Dean was too exhausted to even try to catch any of the words.

"S-Singer," he rasped, effectively drawing the older man's attention to him. "W-who's with y-you?"

"Joshua and two medics from the 4063rd," Bobby answered. "Joshua wanted to make sure I didn't break Clayton's nose again."

"A-again?" Dean coughed, struggling against the urge to laugh. He mentally winced at the sight of his blood spattered hand.

"Long story," Bobby said, looking anxiously at Dean. "How's Winchester?"

Dean let his face convey the answer and felt strangely detached from the rest of the world as Bobby swore and turned around again, shouting loudly for Joshua to hurry his ass up and get the hell over here.

"Just hang on, all right Richardson?" Bobby said, sliding down the muddy wall of the foxhole to sit beside Dean. There was more yelling and ten seconds later, Joshua appeared over the side of the foxhole.

"Holy hell, Richardson," he swore, nearly falling on his face in rush to get into the hospital. "What the fuck happened?"

"B-big b-boom," Dean rasped, coughing again. Bobby handed him a full canteen of water that he had been holding.

"Drink it slowly," the older man instructed. "I don't need you choking to death on me."

"Shit," Joshua muttered. For a moment, Dean thought the younger man was talking to him, until he followed his gaze to the limp, unconscious Winchester beside him. If Dean hadn't felt the extremely weak, unsteady pulse beneath his fingertips, he would have thought that the younger soldier was dead. He looked dead; with blood matted in his hair and caked onto every inch of his skin, along with mud and god knew what else. His leg lay at a nearly impossible angle underneath him and his uninjured arm was crossed over his chest, clutching at his injured one.

"God damn it, Sammy," Bobby whispered as two strangers made their way into the foxhole. It became extremely cramped all of a sudden, and Dean felt a sense of claustrophobia overtaking him.

The first stranger was a tall, blonde woman with warm, brown eyes. She was carrying a medical bag, along with a couple of flashlights and another canteen of water. The second was a taller, dark haired man with bright blue eyes. He too was carrying a medical bag and a tarp.

"Fuck," the man said, laying eyes on the fallen Winchester. He crouched down beside Sam, checking his injured wrist for a pulse. Joshua shot him a glare, before turning to Dean.

"How long has he been like this?" he asked, while taking Dean's injured arm in his hands and extending it gently. Dean swore softly at the slight tug and sting of the shrapnel wound. He felt dried blood beginning to seep from the wound again. He whispered quietly so the others wouldn't over hear him, "The man is Bill, the woman is Ellen. They're medics from the 4063rd."

Dean nodded in understanding, taking a deep breath and found it fairly easy. His lungs ached, but it was nothing unbearable.

"He passed out a second time about five seconds before Singer showed up," he rasped, feeling nauseous as Joshua inched closer to look at his shoulder.

"Second time?" Bill echoed. The sound of ripping plastic made Dean glance at the elder man, who was in the process of opening up a package of towels.

"He passed out about half an hour ago and I couldn't find a pulse," Dean replied, batting Joshua's gentle hand away as the younger man lifted up the bandana that had been tied around his shoulder, courtesy of Sam. "I had to do CPR on him to get his heart beating again. He was complaining about the fact that he couldn't breathe."

Water, Dean decided, was the most amazing substance on planet earth. He could not believe he had lasted as long as he had without the amazing, clear, cool liquid that was now hitting him from every direction.

"Fuck," Joshua swore, accidently prodding Dean's shoulder a little too hard when Dean told Bill about what had happened to Sam.

"Ow, damn it, Whitely," Dean complained. "Watch what you're doing, will you?"

"What's the matter, Joshua?" Bill asked at the same time as Joshua's hands quickly became shaky as they worked to see what was wrong with Dean's shoulder.

"He had a heart attack earlier and is probably on the verge of having another one right now," Joshua answered, swearing again as he found the piece of shrapnel that was buried in Dean's shoulder. "I might be able to dig that thing out of there. You're not going to like it though."

"Shit," Bill growled in testament to what Joshua had told him. "God, this kid looks like he's been flattened by a Mac truck."

"Just do what you can for him and we'll get him to the MASH unit as soon as this storm clears," Joshua said through clenched teeth. "Ellen, Bobby, go patrol the area around the foxhole or something. First sign of the Air Force bombs; get back in this foxhole and don't dawdle. We don't need you two getting blown to hell. Dean, sit very still. I'm going to see if I can get this piece of damned shrapnel out of your shoulder with a pair of forceps."

"I'll wait," Dean said, suddenly feeling very squeamish about what was going to happen. "And I thought the Air Force already bombed this place at least twice."

"Don't be stupid," Joshua chided, grabbing the bag Ellen had left when she climbed out of the foxhole. "It's going to get infected if I don't do anything about it. And what do you mean, twice?"

"Didn't the Air Force blow up the city?" Dean asked, wincing visibly as Joshua stuck him with a needle. He felt instant relief; Joshua had given him morphine. Behind them, Bill was working on stabilizing Sam and splinting the younger man's leg.

"No, someone else planted those bombs," Joshua said, pulling out a wicked looking piece of metal. Dean paled at the sight of it; bombs and wounds didn't bother him, but the sight of anything resembling medical help made him ill.

"Who?" he asked, his voice higher pitched than normal due to the forceps in Joshua's hand. Joshua shot him a strange look that might have been a smile underneath any other circumstances, but resembled more of a grimace now.

"They're still working on that," Joshua said, inching a little closer to Dean, who was struggling to catch his breath. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," he admitted, coughing again. He wasn't able to hide the blood that came from his lungs from Joshua.

"Shit, Richardson," the younger man swore. Dean was amazed by how much he sounded like Sam. "When did you start coughing up blood?"

Dean let out a hoarse laugh; he just couldn't help it. It wasn't that ironic that Joshua was worried about it; but even still, it was ironic that Joshua asked. Or maybe it was just because Dean was high off of morphine, but he suddenly found the entire situation he was in extremely funny.

"A-a-about an hour ago," he said, wrapping his good arm around his injured ribs as he fought back the urge to cough and laugh.

"Fuck, Richardson," Joshua growled, accidently prodding Dean's shoulder too hard again. "Do you and Winchester like being in pain or are you two too stupid enough to ask for help?"

Dean merely rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify that question with a response. His chest ached slightly, though it wasn't as bad as it was.

"How long, Harvelle?" Joshua asked through clenched teeth.

"H-how l-long t-till what?" Dean coughed as Joshua put the icy cold metal against his injured shoulder. Dean was too out of it to feel the gentle tugging sensation that accompanied the forceps going into his shoulder and searching for the piece of shrapnel. He was aware, however, of the sudden tense silence that had fallen around the foxhole and the slight ticklish feeling of blood dripping down his shoulder.

"Five minutes," Bill answered at last, swearing as he lifted up Sam's shirt to get a better look at the damage. "Holy crap, what the hell did you guys do out there? Get run over by a herd of elephants?"

"Something like that." Dean yawned, feeling better than he had in the past few days. He knew it had a lot to do with the morphine. "What's going on with the Air Force?"

"The Air Force," Joshua said through gritted teeth as he pulled out a needle and some surgical thread. "Their bombs are set to go off very soon. They don't want anyone in the area when that happens. Sit still, this is going to sting."

"But we're still in the area," Dean pointed out, jumping slightly at the sudden sting coming from his shoulder. He shot Joshua a glare, but the medic ignored him.

"Shit, I can't find a pulse," Bill said, his voice suddenly worried and anxious. He started doing compressions, attempting to get the younger man to breathe. "Damn it, kid; don't give up on me now. C'mon!"

Dean's breath hitched in his throat; he did not make sure Sam was okay for so long just to watch him die now. In front of him, Joshua's hands visibly tensed as he stopped what he was doing with the stitches and turned to look. He swore violently under his breath; Dean barely heard him.

Sam stayed still, despite Bill's efforts. The heartbeat underneath Dean's fingertips remained silent. There were no visible signs from Sam's chest to signal that he was breathing.

"Come on!" Bill growled, pushing on Sam's chest fairly hard. "You do not get to give up on me. Not now."

"Come on, Sammy," Dean pleaded, his voice a whisper as he squeezed Sam's limp hand. "Don't do this."

He was fighting a losing battle against the tears that were stinging the back of his eyes as Bill tried one more time to get Sam's heart beating. It had been five minutes, and if Sam went on too much longer without oxygen, he faced serious brain damage and other damage.

"Come on, Winchester," Joshua whispered, putting a bandage over Dean's shoulder and turning back to Sam. He touched his hand to Sam's forehead as Bill leaned over one more time to give the younger man mouth-to-mouth. "Don't do this. You've been through way too much to give up now."

As if in response, Sam took a small breath.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I'm making is the wonderful, kickass reviews everyone seems intent on giving me. **

**Author's Note: I'm considerably happier with this chapter than I was with the last one. For one, it's longer. Two, it flows a little better than the last. And three, it has more Sam in it. **

**Author's Note 2: I decided to shoot the story forward a couple of hours in the beginning… I didn't really feel like writing out yet another action sequence. Plus, I was beginning to dislike Bill and Ellen. **

**Read and review!!**

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Supernatural

"**The War to End All Wars"**

**Chapter 12 **

Joshua never thought he'd be so thankful to see the sun as he was the morning after they had found Richardson and Winchester in the foxhole. The sight of it made him smile; it meant it was safe to get Richardson and Winchester to a MASH unit so they could get proper care.

Winchester had stopped breathing twice more during the night, but both times, Bill and Joshua had been able to bring him back. He was now breathing steadily, thanks to the portable ventilator that had been inserted and was in no danger of dying at the moment. He was still severely injured, however; his leg was nearly completely destroyed and would either need to be rebuilt using pins, screws, and plates, or amputated and Sam would have to wear a prosthetic leg for the rest of his life; his shoulder was dislocated and his arm was broken; he had four broken ribs and a punctured lung, and had a mild concussion. He was also severely dehydrated after spending close to six days in the desert without water or any other form of hydration.

Richardson was slightly better off, but not by much. He had passed out late during the night, having not been able to breathe. It was soon discovered that he had three broken ribs, one of which had been crushing his lung. It had been pretty touch and go there for a while, but he was now on a portable ventilator as well and breathing easily. His other injuries included a broken collar bone and a small amount of internal bleeding. His coughing up blood wasn't as serious as everyone thought; he had ripped the tissue in his throat from coughing so much and that was responsible for the blood.

"I'd never thought I'd see a sight as beautiful as that after last night," Singer said from beside him.

Singer and Ellen had returned late during the night when the first of the bombs that the Air Force had scheduled to go off went off. They had barely made it; the bomb had exploded right where they had been ten seconds before. Ellen had ended up spraining her ankle when she landed in the foxhole wrong, but it was nothing unmanageable. There had been four more bombs total, each going further and further away from the foxhole. They had stopped about an hour ago.

The bombs had been extremely stressful on all those in the foxhole. Dean had kept waking every time one of the bombs went off and they ended up having to use almost all of the sedative that they had brought to keep him from pulling out his stitches and removing the ventilator. Sam's injured leg had been hit by a piece of flying shrapnel from the first bomb, adding even more complications on the already destroyed leg. Bill had a bruised skull from hitting the side of the foxhole extremely hard. Joshua had reinjured his shattered wrist at about the same time. He had been forced in a corner, given a shot of morphine, and told not to bother anyone. That had been after Sam's second no breathing episode.

Singer was the only one who escaped unscathed and so it was his job to keep watch for anything that might happen. It had been a quiet night, outside of the bombs, which were worry enough.

"I hear you there," Joshua agreed. He glanced over his shoulder to where Richardson and Winchester were now resting peacefully. He could hardly believe that they both had made it through the night. He wondered how they survived the first night alone, let alone five days without medical help. Those two were truly a medical miracle.

"I radioed in our request for a chopper," Bill said, coming to stand by Singer and Joshua. "They should be here soon."

"That's good," Joshua said, looking away from the two injured men. He winced as he moved his injured wrist.

"We should get that wrist looked at as well," Bill said. Joshua was liking Bill less and less as time wore on. He wasn't sure why he didn't like the older man; he just didn't. It was the same with his wife. They just seemed to rub him the wrong way.

"It will be fine," Joshua said, shrugging slightly.

"Okay," Bill said, disapproval flooding his voice.

"If it falls off, can we change your name to Jack?" Singer asked, attempting to break the sudden tension with a joke. It worked; Joshua smirked and Bill rolled his eyes.

"I also got Clayton on the radio," Bill said. "He said, and I quote, 'I'm going to kick both their asses back to the States'. He didn't sound too happy. He cussed you both out and is threatening to kill you."

"Sounds like Clayton," Singer said, sighing as he looked back at Richardson and Winchester. "But I don't care what he does. If I get the chance to redo this, I'm ignoring his orders the first time around and going after those two idjits myself. Screw Clayton."

"I don't think he swings that way," Joshua said, smirking again. The sound of chopper blades filled the air. "That was fast."

"The MASH unit relocated about ten miles from here," Bill explained. "It takes about five minutes in a chopper."

The chopper landed about twenty feet away from the foxhole, sending dirt and grime into the air. Two people made their way from the helicopter to the foxhole. They were both carrying stretchers.

"Pierce, Franklin, grab Winchester," Bill ordered. "Singer, help me with Richardson. Ellen, you stay with Joshua. Pierce and Franklin will go ahead with Richardson and Winchester. Singer and I will take you and Whitely to the unit in the jeep."

"Okay, Harvelle," one of the two new people in the foxhole said. They set to work prepping Winchester for travel, with help from Singer. Ellen and Bill readied Richardson, with some help from Joshua.

"Okay, let's do this thing," Singer said. Joshua allowed a small smile in response. It was going to be okay. He wasn't going to lose his friend.

* * *

Dean woke up with a start a week later, wondering where he was and what had happened. As he tried to pull himself into a sitting position and found himself unable to do so, it started to come back to him. The pain, the dry air, the lack of water, the exhaustion… Joshua finding them in that craphole… all of it. He wasn't surprised when a dull ache made itself known in his shoulder. He reflexively put his good hand up to check the stitches where Joshua had dug the piece of shrapnel out of it.

"Don't play with those. Docs will get mad if you pull them out again," a hoarse voice rasped from beside him.

Dean blinked in surprise, turning his head to find Joshua sitting next to him, looking worse than Dean felt. He had dark circles underneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept in days, his hair was tousled, he was unshaven, and his wrist was sporting a thick, white cast.

"J-Joshua?" Dean croaked, wincing as the effort tore at his vocal chords. His throat was suddenly on fire and he desperately wanted some water.

As if reading his mind, Joshua handed him a glass of water.

"Take it easy on that stuff," he said, yawning. Dean took the water and drank gratefully.

"How bad am I?" Dean rasped, wincing as the effort of talking burned the back of his throat.

"Three broken ribs, a concussion, torn throat tissue, bruised kidney, infected shrapnel wound in your shoulder, and a crushed lung," Joshua rattled off in a monotone. "You'll live. The doctors managed to re-inflate your lung, your throat will heal in time as long as you keep the talking to a minimum and the infection in your shoulder is already going away. Your ribs will heal, but they'll probably hurt for a while. No lasting complications."

Dean took another sip of the water, trying to process all the information. He was going to be fine. There was nothing wrong with him that wouldn't heal in time.

He took one more sip, trying to determine how best to phrase his next question. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but some part of him told him that he had to know, that it was his responsibility, seeing as it was mostly his fault in the first place.

"And Sam?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He found that this didn't hurt his throat.

Joshua was silent, not meeting Dean's gaze. Dean watched his friend carefully as Joshua's eyes wandered to the bed next to Dean's.

"Joshua?" Dean prompted, carefully controlling the fear that threatened to send him into a panic. Sam couldn't be dead. He wasn't. That was not acceptable.

Joshua sighed, before glancing back at Dean.

"Sam's not dead," he said, understanding the fear that Dean didn't voice. Dean couldn't help the sigh of relief, wincing as it pulled at his injured ribs. "But he's not out of the woods either."

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked; worry making his voice sharper than usual.

"He has a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, and four broken ribs, all of which the doctors are positive will heal in time. He ended up with a punctured lung, but the doctors are sure that will be fine too," Joshua said, looking away from Dean.

"Then what's the problem?" Dean pressed, fighting back the waves of panic that were threatening to overtake him.

"He destroyed his leg and though the doctors were able to save it, they aren't sure if he's going to be able to walk again. They're worried about how depressed Sam is going to get when he finds out the news," Joshua said. The fight the younger man was having to stay in control of his emotions was visible on his face.

Dean couldn't say anything, wasn't sure if there was anything _to_ say. A large part of Sam's life was his athletic ability. Not being able to walk would kill the younger man. There had to be some way, any way, that Sam could walk again.

"Can I see him?" Dean asked, already pushing back his blankets and ignoring the protest his ribs put up.

Joshua's steady hand stopped him.

"He's unconscious right now," he said. "There's nothing you can do for him except rest and recover. The doctors are saying it might take another week or two before Sam wakes up… if he wakes up at all."

"What are you saying, Joshua?" Dean asked, worry spiking through him again.

"Sam's unconscious," Joshua repeated himself. "He's in a coma. They aren't sure when he's going to wake up from it, or if he's going to wake up from it."

"He's going to wake up," Dean said fiercely, shaking off Joshua's hand. "He's going to."

* * *

Dean stayed by Sam's bedside throughout the next week and a half, despite the doctors' pleading for him to go back to bed. He became an almost permanent fixture there, only leaving Sam's side to sleep when the doctors threatened to sedate him and ban him from the hospital.

Joshua stayed with Dean and Sam, only leaving to get his wrist checked out on occasion. The idjit had completely crushed it when he had overturned the jeep on top of him. He had to have a couple of pins put it in it. They were scheduled to be taken out later that day.

Joshua brought Dean up to date on all the things he had missed while he and Sam had been hanging out in the middle of the desert. He told Dean about Bobby's punching Clayton and breaking his nose, which Dean laughed for two hours straight about, and about how Jo had broken her arm in the explosion. Joshua also told Dean about how the ancient army jeep that he, Sam, and Bobby had been planning on stealing and going AWOL was now locked up in the supply room at the MASH unit they were staying at and would probably stay there until the end of time.

As the time had worn on, the doctors were starting to become cautiously optimistic that Sam would wake up. The younger man had started showing signs of coming back to consciousness for the past couple of days. Dean hadn't left Sam's bedside once. He would be the first to know if Sam woke up.

Sam's eyes had been fluttering for the past ten minutes, enough to drive Dean batty. Joshua had gone in to get a cast on his wrist and would be back shortly.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean murmured, squeezing his friend's hand. "Please open your eyes."

* * *

Sam was more comfortable than he had in a long time. The bed he was lying in was something other than an army issued cot and he actually had a soft, feathery pillow instead of twenty million lumps of bricks underneath his head. Nothing hurt, which struck him as odd. He vaguely remembered what happened in the center of the city and was coherent enough to know that he should hurt.

He was distantly aware of someone talking to him. He felt a hand in his own and the squeeze that accompanied it. The same person who was talking to him was now begging for him to wake up.

Sam was never one to disappoint anyone, though this seemed like a Herculean effort. Opening his eyes felt impossible. It was as though someone had glued his eyelids shut and then set ten pound weights on top of them.

"Come on, Sammy," the person begged, squeezing his hand again. "Please open your eyes."

Sam let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering open in the sudden pain that lanced through his chest.

"Sam?"

It was Dean. He should have known that the guy would be there, like an annoying thorn in his side. Dean never left.

"D-De-n?" he whispered, not being able to manage anything else with his throat feeling like someone had lit a match inside of it.

Sam blinked, letting the scene in front of him fall into focus. Dean was sitting in a hospital chair next to him, with a white hospital sling over one arm and the other wrapped protectively around him. A bandage was wrapped around his head. He was dressed in an olive green t-shirt and dark green combat pants along with black combat boots.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Dean teased, using his uninjured arm to wipe his face. Sam could have sworn he'd seen a tear roll down Dean's face. "It's about time you woke up."

"H-how l-long h-has it b-been?" Sam rasped, blinking again. He was exhausted, even though he had only been awake for a few moments. A dull ache was beginning to make itself known in his chest and arm. His leg felt as though someone were trying to chop it off with a dull spoon.

"Bout two weeks," Dean said, glancing away from Sam for a moment. "It was pretty touch and go there for a while. Dude, did you know Bobby's getting court marshaled for breaking Clayton's nose?"

"W-what?" Sam exclaimed as best as he could. Dean handed him a glass of water that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Sam took it gratefully and sipped at it, knowing it wasn't the best idea to gulp it all down in one sitting.

"Yeah, apparently Clayton ordered them not to come after us and Bobby seems to have anger management issues… I wish I had been there," Dean said wistfully. Sam smirked.

"How're you?" he asked, his voice stronger now that he had had some water. He looked Dean over with an appraising eye, knowing that Dean had a habit of lying to him about how he truly felt.

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder.

"I woke up last week," he said. "Hurts on occasion, but I'll live. You, my friend, are the person everyone has been worried about."

"Why?" Sam asked, mentally going over what hurt and trying to remember what he had hurt.

"Well, first you decided that you had enough of breathing and stopped doing that… then you decided you didn't like the ventilator… and then your leg decided it didn't want to heal and the pins that are in it got infected… then, you had to go and slip into a fucking coma for two weeks… the doctors were about ready to dump your body in a hole," Dean said, attempting to keep his voice joking. He failed miserably.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam said, squeezing Dean's hand, which was still in his own. "I'll live. You can kick my ass all you want for doing that crap, but I'm alive. You don't have to worry about it anymore."

Dean wiped at his eyes for a moment and sniffed.

"I'm not a girl, Sam," he said, his voice slightly harsher than it had been. "I don't need a shoulder to cry on."

He didn't move his other hand from Sam's. Sam smirked at this.

"Sure you don't," he said, smiling. "So what happened after…?"

"After you fainted in that foxhole?" Dean asked, the smirk playing at his face for a brief second before disappearing. "Joshua and Bobby came with Bill and Ellen, two medics from the 4063rd. Don't really remember much after that except that Joshua has a shattered wrist and that I woke up here."

"Oh," Sam said, yawning. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Dean said. "He had two pins put in his wrist a couple of weeks ago and had them taken out about an hour ago. He's in a cast now with strict instructions not to hurt his wrist anymore."

"Sounds painful," Sam said, wincing as a wave of pain crashed over him. His leg suddenly felt as though there was someone trying to hammer it into the ground while his chest and arm felt as though someone were stabbing him with hot knives over and over again.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, seeing the pain cross the younger man's face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Next question?"

Dean looked at him suspiciously.

"I should get a nurse," he said. "You look like you're about to bite it."

"I'll bite you if you get that damned nurse," Sam growled. Dean laughed.

"I doubt it. The nurse is freaking hot!" he said. He sobered quickly. "Seriously, Sammy. You don't need to be in any more pain than necessary."

"I'm fine," Sam growled.

"Yeah, and I'm Tinker Bell," Dean groused. "I'll be right back."

Sam sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get out of this one. Besides, he hurt too much to put up too much of a fuss anyway. A little painkiller might be nice.

He heard Dean come back with the nurse and felt the nurse injecting him with something before he let himself slip back into his warm, black cocoon. The last thing he was aware of was Dean squeezing his hand and telling him it would be okay before he finally fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the kickass reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for the lack of updates over the past two weeks. I have had serious issues with this chapter and ended up rewriting the entire last couple of chapters to fit this one. It's also really short, and for that I'm sorry, but I hope to have another update out soon.**

**Author's Note 2: This chapter starts out really slow, then gets extremely intense really fast with a pretty major cliffhanger at the end. Just thought I'd warn you all.**

**Author's Note 3: School is almost out for the holidays and I hope to have more updates then. I actually plan on finishing this story sometime in the next three weeks, if that gives you any ideas. **

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 13**

Dean stared at Sam's face, marveling at how peaceful and innocent it seemed in sleep. All the lines of pain, worry, and secrets had all faded away and there was just a blank, serene, child-like person in its place.

Sam had drifted off into unconsciousness nearly an hour before, but Dean couldn't bring himself to leave the younger man's side. He was worried about how Sam was going to take the news about never going to be able to walk again and was worried that Sam might never wake up again. The latter was a useless worry, but Dean had heard too many horror stories about soldiers that went to sleep while injured in a hospital and never woke up again. He wasn't sure if he could survive losing Sam on top of all the other things that had happened recently. He needed Sam, and was pretty certain that Sam needed him to.

Dean was pulled out of his musings by Joshua's return with coffee and pain medication. Though Dean was officially checked out of the hospital, he was still required to take pills once an hour to make sure the infection in his shoulder didn't come back and to keep the worst of the pain at bay.

"He's going to be okay," Joshua said, handing Dean the pills and keeping the cup of coffee. His wrist was in a new splint, versus the bulky cast he had on earlier.

"I know," Dean said, glaring moodily at the pills in his hand. "I just don't know how to tell him that he'll never walk again."

"Possibly never walk again," Joshua corrected, taking a swig of his coffee. "There's a chance he will."

"Even still, how are you supposed to tell a guy that he was lucky not to lose his leg for saving your own ass?" Dean questioned, clenching his hand around the pill bottle.

"Dean, it's _not_ your fault. Get that through your thick skull, okay? Even if you had been fine, he would have still forced himself to walk on that damn leg of his and still would have injured it almost to the point of no return," Joshua said, glaring fiercely at Dean, who merely sighed.

"You believe whatever you want, Joshua," he said. "But the fact is, Sam would never have been forced to walk on that injured leg if I had sucked it up and done what he had done to begin with."

"Dean, have you learned anything about Sam in the two years that you've known him? He's more of a martyr than you are! If positions were switched, what the hell would you have done?"

Dean was silent, not willing to give an answer because he would have done the same thing, and knew that Joshua knew that. Dean sighed again, remembering how ironic this conversation was. Had it only been three weeks ago that he had been having almost the exact same conversation with Sam? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"So, how is he?" Joshua asked, obviously deciding not to push the topic. He knew he was right and knew that Dean knew he was right, so there was no sense in pushing it.

"He woke up about an hour ago," Dean supplied, shifting his gaze away from Joshua and back to Sam, who was still fast asleep.

"That's good," Joshua said, smiling ever so slightly. "He'll wake up again, Dean. It's not going to be like some of those soldiers."

Of course Joshua knew what Dean was thinking. He should; he told almost all of the stories Dean had heard. But even still, Joshua was starting to seem too much like Sam. Dean sighed again.

"You and Sam are way too scary when you start reading my mind like that," he said, returning Joshua's smile hesitantly.

"It's a Stanford thing," Joshua said, smirking. Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam had to be dreaming. There was no way he was still in that foxhole. Or maybe the whole thing with Dean in the MASH unit was the dream and this was reality. It was certainly vivid; the intense heat, the bombs bursting around him, the unbearable pain in his chest. It was certainly like what he last remembered in the foxhole, minus the rain.

He heard someone yelling and knew it was Dean. The older man sounded scared as he shouted for help. Sam struggled to turn his head, to tell Dean that it was too late for him, but he found that he couldn't. He could only see the red sky above him and the shadows nearby.

He heard someone attempt to calm Dean down, while at the same time, try to help Sam. The person sounded a lot like Joshua. That confused him. Joshua hadn't been in the foxhole last time Sam checked. Maybe this was a dream after all.

"He's running fever and his heart rate's up," Joshua was saying, his voice taut with worry. Someone else, someone Sam didn't recognize, cursed.

"Shit," the person said. The person had a distinctively male voice, but it wasn't Dean's. He wondered where Dean went. "We're going to have to go back in. I think one of his sutures ripped and he's now bleeding into his stomach. Whitely, I'm going to need your help with this."

"Richardson, get the hell out of here," Joshua ordered.

"No, I'm staying here with Sam," Dean protested. Sam calmed a little bit at the sound of his friend's voice, and personally wanted him to stay as well.

'That's an order, now go," Joshua snapped. Dean said something else that Sam couldn't quite make out. "Yes, I'm pulling rank on you. Now get the hell out of here. You can't do anything else for him, so quit torturing yourself and leave so we can save Sam's life. Go!"

Dean didn't reply, but there were sounds of boots crunching on sand and Dean's presence disappeared. Another bomb exploded nearby, rattling Sam's bones.

"Shit! James, call Headquarters. Tell them to move their damn bombs somewhere else!" the unfamiliar voice yelled. "Joshua, grab one end of this. Pierce, help him out. We don't need two people in surgery. Move!"

Another bomb exploded and then Sam didn't hear anything at all.

Dean was about to say something to Joshua, when the machines around Sam started beeping wildly.

"Shit," Joshua swore, looking at one of them.

Dean took that as a bad sign. He rarely heard the medic swear; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time the younger man did swear.

"Harvelle! Get your ass in here!" he shouted. Dean hated the fact that his voice cracked.

"Dean, it's going to be okay," Joshua said. It would have been more convincing if he didn't sound so damn frightened.

There was a commotion outside as something exploded right outside the post-op ward's doors. Then, Bill and Ellen came in, along with an unfamiliar man with dark hair that Dean didn't recognize. He decided that the man must have been one of the doctors at the MASH unit.

"What's happening?" Bill demanded, his eyes worried.

"He's running fever and his heart rate's up," Joshua said.

"Shit," Bill swore, exchanging a glance with Joshua. Joshua inclined his head towards Sam's stomach. Dean hadn't noticed that Joshua had already done a checkup on Sam's condition. "We're going to have to go back in. I think one of his sutures ripped and he's now bleeding into his stomach. Whitely, I'm going to need your help with this."

"Richardson, get the hell out of here," Joshua ordered. Dean blanched; Joshua couldn't be serious. There was no way in hell he was leaving Sam. The kid was barely holding on to life and Joshua expected him to abandon Winchester? What the hell was going through the idiot's mind?

"No, I'm staying here with Sam," Dean said firmly, glaring at Joshua and daring him to disagree. Joshua glared back, his anger much more impressive than Dean's.

"That's an order," the medic growled. "Now go."

"You're pulling rank on me?" Dean demanded, his eyebrows raising in surprise. Joshua was ranked higher than Dean and Sam; a crazy idea of Clayton's in hopes to keep Sam less reckless and in turn, Dean and Bobby, for the older two did nothing without the younger. It was a sad hope; Joshua rarely used his rank. Except for now.

"Yes, I'm pulling rank on you," Joshua snapped as another nurse came racing in with a gurney. "Now get the hell out of here. You can't do anything else for him, so quit torturing yourself and leave so we can save Sam's life. Go!"

Dean glared at Joshua as another explosion occurred outside.

"What the hell's happening out there?" he asked, as the aftershocks rattled the windows.

"Army headquarters thinks we're the enemy," the dark haired man said as Joshua moved to help the nurse unhook the machines that Sam was hooked to so they could move him on to the gurney.

"Shit! James, call Headquarters. Tell them to move their damn bombs somewhere else!" Bill yelled. The dark haired man that Dean had mistaken for a surgeon and was actually the MASH company clerk moved off to do what he was told as another man in uniform came in. Bill waved him over as Joshua and the nurse finished unhooking the machines. "Joshua, grab one end of this. Pierce, help him out. We don't need two people in surgery. Move!"

Another bomb exploded they moved Sam onto the gurney, causing the window right above Sam's bed to shatter. Someone screamed as Bill, Joshua, and the other man in uniform shielded Sam from the showering glass, just as the heart monitor flat-lined with a long _beep_.

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	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Author's Note: You guys are going to hate me. My friend, who has been reading this story since the beginning, hates me right now. Mostly because she didn't get to read the entire thing and she would probably have forgiven me by the end of the chapter, but still, you guys are going to hate me. **

**Author's Note 2: Outside of the major hate factor, this chapter is boring. It's mostly a filler. It has no Sam whatsoever and is written all in Dean's perspective. I just couldn't bring myself to write anything else tonight.**

**Author's Note 3: I should have the next chapter up later this week. School is officially out for the holidays, so I'm hoping to be able to write more. Maybe as a gift to you all, I will update two chapters this week instead of one. **

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 14**

It was raining steadily as boots crunched across the freshly dug dirt and wet grass. Six men decked out in crisp uniforms walked by the gathered, silent crowd, carrying a handsome, shiny dark mahogany coffin. They stopped by the new hole in the cemetery, with the headstone labeled _Samuel J. Winchester _in front of it.

"Samuel Winchester was a hero," the priest said, from his place in front of the crowd. "He was brave and unyielding in the face of danger, putting his friends and fellow comrades in front of himself, even when he was more gravely injured than they. He saved the lives of many, even those who he did not know. Samuel Winchester brought hope and innocence to the lives of those who knew him. It shall be a hard, sad life without him."

Dean, who was standing closest to the coffin beside an unfamiliar blonde girl, struggled his hardest to keep from letting the tears burning the back of his eyes slide down his face. Sam was dead, because of him. This entire funeral was his fault. The people here, the people who knew and loved Sam, shouldn't have to be going through this right now. Joshua, who was standing beside Dean with a small woman with frizzy brown hair, shouldn't have had to lose his best friend.

The priest made a cross in front of himself as he finished his eulogy. Tears were streaming down the faces of the crowd, including Bobby, who was near the back, Clayton and Jackson, who were standing close to Bobby, and Ryan and Smith, who were in the extreme back. Dean saw all of this, but could not bring himself to be surprised. He was too caught up in his own grief.

"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, we now lay our brother, our friend, and our fellow comrade to rest," the priest said, closing his bible.

The coffin was lowered into the ground. Beside Dean, the girl let out a sob and buried her face into her hands. Joshua made a strangled sound from beside him, one that sounded like a cross between a cry and a curse. Dean spared him a swift glance and felt even guiltier as he saw his friend's face. The frizzy haired woman beside him was trying to comfort him, but Joshua looked as though he had just been hit by a train.

Dean couldn't fight the tears anymore. He let them begin to fall as Joshua moved forward with the frizzy haired woman to grab a handful of dirt to throw on Sam's coffin. Dean followed, trying to get himself under control as he did so.

"I'll miss you, Sammy," Joshua was whispering, tears cascading down his face all the while. "You're were the greatest friend one could ask for."

Dean felt another pang shoot through him as Joshua moved away from the grave. It was his turn to say good-bye to Sam, to say his last words ever to the man who saved his life. The tears started again, but this time, Dean made no effort to stop them.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything that you went through. If it's the last thing I do, I will do everything I can to make it up to you."

With that, he grabbed a handful of dirt and let it slide through his fingers, scrubbing his face hard with his other hand.

He stood there, staring at the open grave as other people began to move around him. It still had yet to sink in; Sam was dead. Dean would never be able to tease Sam for being intelligent, never be teased by him for being an idiot, never be able to protect him, and never just talk to the kid about anything ever again.

It was too much for Dean; he sank to his knees, ignoring the stares of the crowd and the soaked ground that was staining his uniform pants. He ignored the fact that he would probably never be able to get back up without help, but at that moment, he didn't care. He didn't care if he was ever able to get back up again. He would prefer it if he could just give up and stay here for the rest of his life.

Dean lost track of time as he sat there and let the world pass by him. The funeral ended and the crowd left to go to the wake at the main headquarters. Dean wasn't in the mood for being around other people; he just wanted to be left alone.

Dean felt Joshua's eyes on him from across the graveyard and knew that the younger man was probably going to come over and talk to him. Dean wished he wouldn't; but at the same time, hoped he would. Anything would be better than dealing with the overwhelming sense of guilt that was threatening to push him over the edge.

Dean gazed at the now covered grave, trying desperately to cling onto the hope that maybe this was all some sort of sick dream, that he could just open his eyes and none of the past month would have happened.

"Dean?"

A gentle hand was placed on Dean's good shoulder to announce Joshua's presence. Dean barely acknowledged it.

"Don't," he said, closing his eyes. "Just don't."

"Dean," Joshua said. His voice was a little louder this time and he shook Dean's shoulder.

"Damn it, Joshua! Leave me alone!"

Dean's eyes flew open and he sat up with a start. Standing above him, Joshua chuckled tiredly. Dean turned to glare at him, wondering how he had gotten into one of the army issued tents from the cemetery and why the hell Joshua was laughing.

"Sam's awake," the younger man said, smiling. Dean stared at him in surprise; had his wish seriously been granted? Had the horrific sight of Sam's funeral truly been a dream?

"Really?" Dean asked, yawning hugely.

"He's asking for you," Joshua said, rubbing his eyes. "And I need to get some sleep."

"How is he?" Dean asked, somewhat dreading the answer. He wanted to make sure Sam was okay, but at the same time, he didn't want to know if Sam was about to bite it.

"He'll make it," Joshua said, smiling again. "The doctors are pretty certain they got all of the shrapnel this time around and there won't be anything else. They also managed to bring the fever down, which is good."

"That's great," Dean said, sighing as he got off of the cot and stretched. "I swear, if that kid gets hurt or nearly killed ever again, I think I'm going to lock him in a padded cell and throw away the key."

"He'll find a way to get out of it," Joshua said, smirking as he yanked off his boots. "He's the great Sammy Winchester. There's nothing stopping him."

Dean laughed at that.

"When did the bombs stop?" he asked, noticing how quiet it was. When he had gone to sleep, the Army had been going at it and showed no signs of stopping. Dean wondered just how long he had slept.

"About an hour ago, much to everyone's relief," Joshua said, flopping on the cot. "You were out of it for close to three hours. Must have been some strong painkillers Nurse Abel gave you."

"Yeah, I guess they were a little strong," Dean said, grabbing his boots from where he had kicked them off three hours before.

Dean had ended up reinjuring his collar bone when one of the bombs had gone off. He had been helping the doctors to get Sam to the OR when one of the doors he had been holding had come down on top of him. Somehow, he escaped mostly unscathed, except for his collarbone, which had to be reset. Dean was pretty certain his doctor was about ready to kill him for not taking it easy.

"As long as they helped," Joshua murmured, his eyes already closing. "Try not to get yourself killed on the walk across the compound, okay? Sam might just murder me for that."

"I'll try," Dean said sarcastically, wincing slightly as he shoved his arm into its sling. "Sleep well, Joshua."

Joshua made a noise that sounded like a combination of a snort and a snore before Dean walked out of the tent and headed towards post-op.

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And yes, the funeral was a dream. Sam is

_**not**_** dead. I could never kill him off, at least, not in this story. Reviews are always welcome, so please do so!! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural **_**or any of its characters. The only profit I make from this story is the kickass reviews you guys seem to enjoy giving to me.**

**Author's Note: As promised, you have all received a Christmas/whatever you celebrate present today. Be warned, this chapter is slightly emotional and full of random stories from times before this story started. No tissues needed, though.**

**Author's Note 2: I will have the next update soon, hopefully tomorrow or on Saturday. **

**Author's Note 3: There is a poll on my profile, concerning this story. Please vote!!**

**Author's Note 4: I just wanted to say, Merry Christmas and have a happy holiday!!**

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 15**

Sam winced as the doctor raised and straightened his injured arm, trying to get the full extent of the damage. His recently relocated shoulder burned with the effort and his wrist felt like it was trying to break apart again. It felt like ages before the doctor finally put it down and wrote something on the clipboard. Sam was swearing mentally at the doctor; though he managed to keep his face somewhat controlled.

"It's healing nicely," the doctor said, placing the clipboard back on its hook at the edge of Sam's bed. "You should be able to move into a small, more permanent cast and only have to use the sling when your shoulder starts hurting soon."

Sam nodded, not really interested in what was going on with his arm. He was more interested in what was wrong with his leg; no one had told him, but every time he tried to bring it up, they diverted the subject to his damn arm or his ribs, which were also healing nicely.

"You should be able to start physical therapy on it soon," the doctor continued. "I'll have one of the nurses set it up with your doctor back in the States."

Sam started, not certain if he heard the doctor correctly. He was going _home_? That was impossible; he still had another six or seven months to go before he could return home.

"I'm going home?" he asked, dumfounded. "Why?"

The doctor closed his eyes and sighed, before reopening them.

"I should have guessed that you were one of those patients," he said, shaking his head. Sam wasn't sure what the hell that meant, but decided not to ask. "You're going home due to complications in your leg. We're not sure if it's ever going to fully heal, and that means you're probably not going to walk again. You have your best chance of being able to if we send you home."

Sam swallowed back his horror at the doctor's grim news. _So that's why Joshua kept avoiding my question_, he thought. _He didn't want me to know that I probably will never walk again. Well, that turned out well, didn't it? _

"Winchester, I hate to tell you this, but you look like absolute crap."

Dean's familiar voice drew Sam out of his bitter thoughts. He blinked once, trying to get the thought of never being able to walk again out of his head.

"Well, Richardson, you still smell like crap," Sam shot back, smirking as he pulled himself into sitting position. For once, it didn't hurt when he moved. They must have put him on some pretty powerful pain killers, for him not to be able to feel anything at all. "Haven't you ever heard of showering?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sat down on the chair beside Sam's bed, stretching out his legs and crossing them as he did so.

"How're you holding up?" he asked, folding his good arm around his sling.

"I feel fine," Sam said, shrugging lightly. It was the truth, as long as he didn't allow himself to think about what was going to happen in the next couple of weeks. He was going home. Sam wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"You lying?" Dean asked. Sam sighed. Dean had always been good at telling when Sam wasn't exactly truthful and Sam kept forgetting about that.

"Kind of," he admitted. Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting Sam to be that honest. Sam ignored it.

"What's up, Winchester?" Dean asked, repositioning himself so he was leaning on Sam's bedside.

Sam sighed again.

"Nothing, I'm just… it's nothing, man," he said, looking away from Dean. He heard the older man shift and mutter something incoherently. It sounded a lot like _yeah, and I'm the tooth fairy_. Sam smirked ever so slightly.

"So, you through with the whole nearly dying act?" Dean asked. Sam could tell that his friend was trying his hardest to keep his emotions under control. It would be undetectable to anyone who hadn't known Richardson for the past two years and had spent every waking moment with the guy.

"Yeah, I figure it's getting boring. Time to move on to something more exciting, like freaking the doctors out when I walk out of here next month," Sam said, knowing it was better to not dwell on the subject that he had nearly died. Again.

"Sammy," Dean started, the helplessness obvious in his voice. Sam turned back to him.

"What?" Sam rarely heard the older man sound so helpless, except for that one moment in the foxhole where Sam had nearly died.

"They're saying that you'll never walk again. That you won't be able to get out of a wheelchair at all, ever again."

"Well-"

Dean interrupted him before Sam could say anything.

"And the fact is, that it's all my fault. If you hadn't had to save my sorry ass in the first place, then you would be fine."

"Dean-"

"No. It's the truth, Sammy."

"It's not your fault. If you don't want to believe that, then fine. But I don't give a damn what the doctors say. I will walk again, if it's the last thing I do."

Dean continued to look like someone had just run over his favorite puppy. _It's a close enough analogy, _Sam thought, remembering that Jess had always teased him for how much he resembled a puppy at times. Dean and Bobby had taken up the teasing when Sam had used what they called puppy dog eyes to get his way on more than one occasion. Sam never did figure out what the hell they were talking about, but found that it was always really easy to get away with just about anything around Bobby and Dean. Apparently, they weren't immune to the puppy dog eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, sighing and running his free hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to get all girly there... it's just that…"

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, knowing that Dean would never get the words out that he was freaked to hell and that Sam meant more to Dean than just about anyone. At least, that's how Sam interpreted it. He didn't exactly want to make the moment more awkward by asking.

"You remember that plan where we were going to take that ancient jeep from behind the compound and just go anywhere with it? Get kicked out of the army for doing something like that?" Dean asked.

Sam knew that his friend was doing his infamous act of ignoring awkward moments; change the subject and ignore the fact that the moment ever came close to happening.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at the memory of the day the three musketeers all had a day off and decided to just sit around and talk about random things. The plan had been set into motion when Bobby had nicked the keys off of Jackson's desk. They had gotten to the jeep and were about to actually go through with the plan when Jackson had caught them and told them that Clayton would murder them if they took the jeep and went AWOL. Sam had no doubt that Jackson had been right and had talked his friends out of doing it, that day anyways. They had made a promise to go through it one day before the end of their tour.

"You want to do it?" Dean asked, looking at Sam, who stared back in shock. He could tell by the look on Richardson's face that the older man wasn't kidding, but Sam couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Dean had just asked him that.

"You serious?" Sam asked, eyes widening as Dean nodded.

"Why not? It's not like I have anything better to do and you look like you could use some fresh air. Not that I blame you, this antiseptic smell would get to anyone."

Dean was feeling guilty. He always babbled when he felt guilty, something that Sam had picked up on when the younger man had gotten injured in a battle long ago, saving Bobby's life. Dean had blamed himself for not being on that patrol, even though he had been given two weeks of r'n'r. Sam had broken his wrist while shoving Bobby out of the way of a rogue soldier who decided it would be fun to take the men on in a hand-to-hand fight. Bobby had fallen on top of Sam's wrist, snapping the bone clean in two. Bobby had ended up with a concussion when the rogue soldier had hit him on the head with the butt of a gun. Sam had ended up taking out the rogue soldier and had managed to drag Bobby the hell out of there. Dean didn't shut up for a month after that, constantly apologizing. It was only when Sam had threatened to switch tents with Smith, who had had a solitary tent at the time, did Dean shut up and get over it.

"Didn't Joshua wreck the damned thing?" Sam asked, smiling at Dean's eye roll.

"He merely flipped it. A tank couldn't take the damn thing out," Dean answered. "And Joshua can't drive worth a fuck. Seriously, what was he thinking trying to drive that thing?"

"Didn't he pop the tire on it?" Sam asked. Dean scowled at Sam, who merely looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"You're doing the damned puppy dog eyes," he growled. Sam continued to stare at him. "Would you cut it out? You already look pathetic enough without them. Anymore and old grannies are going to want your number."

It was Sam's turn to scowl, which turned into a smirk the second the thought hit his mind.

"It's better than being groped by the male nurses," he teased. Joshua had mentioned something about Dean's obvious hatred towards the nurse he had ended up with during his stint in a hospital bed. The nurse had been a man, who was close to fifty years old and was, according to Joshua, obsessed with Dean.

Dean scowl deepened and Sam let out a loud laugh. He winced as the effort tore at his aching ribs. Dean caught the wince, no matter how hard Sam tried to cover it.

"Dude, you okay?" he asked as Sam breathed in and out deeply, trying to work through the pain.

Sam managed to nod, gritting his teeth together as he did so. He hated broken ribs. They were by far one of the worst things to break. Sam would know; he had broken just about every fucking bone in his body.

"I'm fine," he bit out, leaning back against his pillows. "Just sore. Doctor told me that they would be fine in a couple of weeks, so don't get your panties in a twist."

"Sorry for showing concern," Dean said, visibly taken aback by Sam's sudden bitterness.

Sam sighed. He hadn't meant to get snappish with Dean, but he was starting to get tired and everything was starting to hurt again. His leg seemed to have a separate heart beat from the rest of him and it was really beginning to annoy him. The damn thing was trying to get him sent home and it also had the audacity to aggravate the hell out of Sam. Stupid leg.

Dean always seemed to have a sixth sense for being able to tell what kind of mood Sam was in. He also always seemed to know when to back off and leave Sam alone, which the younger man needed at the moment.

"I'm going to go find a cup of coffee," he announced, getting off the chair. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes. You want anything?"

"A new leg?" Sam asked, only half-joking. He wished he hadn't said anything when he saw the flash of pain that crossed Dean's face. "Sorry."

Dean merely shrugged his good shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do," he said. With that, he turned and walked out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Author's Note: This chapter is for Pandora Jazz, who requested the reasoning behind why people kept telling Sam he would never walk again. The next chapter is also for her, because she also requested that we find out more about Sam's childhood. So, the next chapter will definitely have a couple of flashbacks. **

**Author's Note 2: I know most of you reading this story probably just watch **_**Supernatural**_** and refuse to watch **_**One Tree Hill **_**because it's a soap opera. That's fine. I'm not expecting you to read any of the **_**One Tree Hill **_**based fanfics I have written here or watch the show. But there is one fanfic, it's not really a story, that has some information about upcoming **_**Supernatural**_** stories I'm writing. If you're interested, it's called **_**Scott Winchester 22 3's Winter Preview**_**. It'll let you guys know a little bit more about what I'm planning on writing **_**Supernatural**_** wise. Right now, all I have for the stories are the summaries, but I will have some more information such as spoilers and plot-lines on there soon. **

**Author's Note 3: I just wanted to say thanks for reading and hope you guys are happy with the homestretch part of this story. I plan on writing four maybe five more chapters and then calling it good. **

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**Supernatural**

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 16**

Joshua woke to someone calling his name. He opened his eyes to see an anxious Dean standing over him, two cups of coffee in his hands.

"What the hell, Richardson?" he asked with a groan as he sat up. "Can't you let a guy sleep in peace?"

Dean barely cracked a smile at that as he handed one of the still steaming cups of coffee to Joshua and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"What's really wrong with Sam's leg? Why are the doctors saying that he'll never walk again?" he asked.

Joshua took a sip of coffee, stalling. The truth wasn't pretty; Sam had destroyed some of the nerves in his lower leg, torn the cartilage in his knee, popped his kneecap out of place, and cracked his thigh bone. He also had strained his Achilles tendon in his heel to the point where it was close to ripping in two. The doctors were worried that if Sam did try to walk anywhere in the near future before the tendon was healed, then he would put too much strain on it and rip it. Joshua had been in medicine long enough to know that that would mean surgery and close to six months of rehab to heal by itself. Combined with the other injuries, it could take close to a year for them to completely heal and by that point, Sam's leg muscles would have atrophied to the point where they wouldn't be able to support him properly. He would probably never regain full use of his injured leg because of the nerve damage in the lower half of it and the cartilage damage in his knee, and even if they did fully heal, which the possibility was next to none, he would always walk with a limp. The odds were too great and too much.

"Isn't it too early in the morning for that kind of grim talk?" Joshua asked, diverting the subject. It was a trick he had learned from Sam when he didn't want to talk about things.

"It's three in the afternoon," Dean said, his voice still depressed. "You're just as bad as Sam's doctor, you know that?"

"Insulting me isn't going to gain you any favors," Joshua pointed out, throwing the light blanket off of him and slipping off the cot. "You don't want to hear the gory details."

"Sam seems pretty damned determined to walk again and he's questioning the reason as to why everyone's telling him he can't," Dean said as Joshua stretched his stiff muscles. He had barely gotten a full hour of sleep since Dean left the tent in the first place to go visit Sam. Before that, he had barely slept more than half an hour a night since Sam and Dean had disappeared. Between all the injuries the company seemed to pick up and the constant worrying about Dean and Sam and if they were still alive, it was no wonder that he had never gotten any sleep.

"Well, tell Sam to ask his doctor," Joshua said, taking another sip of the coffee and grimacing. The stuff was vile; it had the consistency of tar and it smelled like paint thinner.

"I'm asking you, Whitely," Dean said. Joshua put down his coffee, knowing that Dean wasn't going to back off until he got answers, answers that he knew Joshua had.

"You're not going to like what you hear," he said warningly. He had a vain hope that it would dissuade Dean enough to stop asking.

"I have a right to know. Sam has a right to know, it's his leg," Dean pointed out. "It's not his fault the doctors around here are so damn secretive. It's not his fault he had to give up his ability to walk to-."

"It's not your fault," Joshua reminded him. Dean stared stonily at him, waiting for the younger man to continue. Joshua sighed, running a hand through his hair and tried to calm it down. "When Sam first injured his leg, it was probably nothing more than a cracked thigh bone, or maybe even sprained. It wasn't as serious as it is now. But by putting his weight on it continuously over a long period of time and dragging you across two miles of hot desert and then landing on it a couple of times, Sam put too much strain on the rest of his leg, which was working over time trying to support his weight. He dislocated his knee, tore the cartilage in it, and yet continued walking on it. By this point, he might have been able to walk eventually if he had just stopped and given himself a rest."

"But he didn't," Dean concluded sourly. Joshua nodded, running a hand over his rugged face. He needed to shave, badly. He wondered where he could find a razor.

"When he continued to walk on it, he tore the cartilage even more and the Achilles tendon started to stretch and pull due to the continuous strain Sam kept putting on it. He was lucky the tendon didn't rip right then and there. Then, when the bombs started going off and he ended up with shrapnel in his lower leg, he ended up suffering severe nerve damage to the ankle and shin area."

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean whispered. Joshua doubted he should have overheard that. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's it," Joshua said. "But you should know that any one of those injuries by itself takes a long time to heal. Combined, they're going to take even longer and by then… the muscles in Sam's other leg will have deteriorated too much for them to work properly."

"Is there anything that we can do for him to prevent that?"

Joshua was really beginning to get why everyone called Dean a mama bear. He was extremely protective of Sam, almost to the point of insanity, and he would do anything for the kid. That much was obvious by the tone of his voice and the look of absolute desperation in his eyes. Joshua really hated himself for having to tell Dean that there was nothing the older man could do.

"The only thing we can do is send him to back home and let his doctor there work on rehabbing him," he said, looking away from Dean. He didn't want to see the pained expression that he knew was going to be there.

"He doesn't want to go home," Dean said quietly. His voice was carefully controlled, but Joshua could sense the Herculean effort that Richardson was putting in to keep it that way.

Joshua was surprised by this bit of news. He would have thought that Sam would have given anything to go home, go back to Jess, and just forget that the entire war had ever happened. But then again, Joshua thought, looking at the man in front of him. Maybe it was because he knew that Richardson would be going home at the same time and wouldn't have to worry about the older man getting killed. And they thought Dean was the mama bear. Sam was ten times worse, willing to keep himself in purgatory to keep his friend safe. Of course, Joshua also knew that if given the chance, Dean would do the same thing.

"Did he tell you that?" he asked, doubting that Sam would ever say something like that. He didn't want to be cruel, but he had to be honest with the fact that Dean didn't want Sam to go home. He highly doubted that, but it was always a possibility.

Dean merely shrugged.

"You didn't see his face when the doctor told him that he was going home," he said. "He looked horrified by the thought."

Joshua knew enough about Sam to know that the kid was better at hiding his emotions than even Dean was, but Dean was quiet adept at reading Sam's mask. So if Dean said that Sam had looked horrified, it was probably the truth. Joshua also knew that Dean rarely, if ever, lied.

"He can't stay here," Joshua said, knowing that the words he was about to say were going to hurt not only Sam, but Dean as well. "He's not safe. He's only a liability from this point out and it's not one the army can afford."

"So you're saying that he's too weak? That he couldn't take care of himself?" Dean demanded. His eyes were angry and sad at the same time. He knew that it was the truth, but he wanted to hear Joshua say it.

"I'm not saying that I think that," Joshua clarified. "With time, he could be back to the way he was a month ago. But the army isn't willing to give him that time nor could they if they were. The best thing for him, in the army's opinion, is that Sam goes home and recovers in a safe environment."

"You don't think he'll be safe in California, do you?" Dean asked.

Joshua was taken aback by that question. He thought that, yes, but how did Dean know that? The last time he had checked, Sam was being pretty closed off about the whole abusive father thing and the death threat looming over his head when he returned to California. Then again, the last time Joshua had checked had been close to a month and a half ago. Sam and Dean had spent a lot of time together since then and it was possible that Sam had come clean about the whole thing. Joshua secretly hoped so, though he would never admit it to Sam. Dean had the right to know. Hell, he had more of a right than Joshua at this point.

"No, I don't," he said after a long pause. "You know about John and his death threat."

It wasn't a question, but Dean nodded anyways.

"Sam told me about it," he said. "He also told me about the disastrous wedding."

Joshua sighed and closed his eyes. If he had been unwilling to go into the details of Sam's leg so soon after he had gotten up, then he would kill someone not to talk about that wedding. He still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt every time he thought about it, even if Sam had long since forgiven him about it. Hell, Sam hadn't even been mad about it in the first place. Or at least, not mad at Joshua. He had been pretty pissed off at John that night. It wasn't any wonder that Sam had moved in with Jessica's family not long after that and stayed there.

"I'm not going into that, not with you," he said firmly. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Dean nod.

"I don't want you to," he said. "But it wasn't your fault."

"God, do you know how much you and Sam sound alike?" Joshua asked. "It's scary."

Dean managed a small smile, before leaning back and stretching out across the cot. He looked exhausted and Joshua was reminded that he had only gotten three hours of sleep and he was still injured.

"What was Sam like before he came here?" Dean asked, yawning and pulling the blanket closer towards him.

Joshua was surprised at how young Dean looked. Joshua had always seen the man as older and more rugged. Right now, he looked almost the same age as Sam and Joshua. It was a scary occurrence. Joshua was also startled by the conversation turn. He hadn't been expecting this.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hunting around the tent for a clean shirt that wasn't covered in blood stains. The disadvantages of transferring to the MASH unit were that one could rarely find something that wasn't covered in blood or completely trashed. Joshua liked it better at the MASH unit then he did at the company for now. He had a feeling that when Sam returned to the States and Dean left for the company things would change.

He didn't receive an answer to his question. Confused, Joshua turned and found Dean passed out on the cot, the blanket pulled up to his chin. Joshua smiled at the sight; it made Dean look so different than he normally was. He turned out the light and headed towards post-op, deciding to talk to Sam.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_ **or any of its characters. The only profit I am gaining from this story is the kickass reviews you guys are giving me.**

**Author's Note: As promised, you guys get a glimpse into Sam's life in this chapter. I'm using the information from the show in parts of this, like soccer and all, but added my own special twist. **

**Author's Note 2: I actually do have a plot coming in to play eventually about Sam being sent home… it will probably make a cameo appearance in the next chapter, if not an actual appearance… hehe. **

**Author's Note 3: I like this chapter, even if it is a little slow. It's really nothing outside of Joshua and Sam conversing from an outsider (being Dean)'s point of view, but it was very easy to write. I hope you guys enjoy it.**

**Author's Note 4: Please, if you're reading this story, don't forget to review! Pandora Jazz and StupidShinySilverVolvoOwner, you two are my heroes right now! You're the only things keeping me from scrapping this story and starting something else, which would be awful, seeing as I'm almost done with it. So, if you're reading this, review! I dare you!**

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 17 **

Dean walked into the post-op ward a few hours later, feeling better than he had in over a month. His shoulder finally felt like it was getting better instead of staying the exact same, broken and useless. His headache that had been hounding him constantly over the past month was gone, and he could breathe deeply again without wanting to pass out from the effort.

Joshua was talking to Sam about something and by the looks of it, it wasn't Sam's leg. Sam was smiling and rolling his eyes, before replying to the question Joshua had just asked. Dean stopped a few feet away to observe the scene. He hadn't seen Sam smile that much since his last birthday when Dean and Bobby had managed to get him a three day pass to Tokyo. Jess had flown out to meet him and they apparently had a sleepless three days. Dean was still teasing Sam about that and the older man had a feeling that Joshua was too.

"…And remember Johnson's crappy pass to the center? How could that guy try to throw the game like that?" Sam asked, his eyes brighter than they had been in a long time. Dean didn't recognize what they were talking about. He figured it was something way before the time Dean had known Sam.

"He should have known better with you playing in that game," Joshua said.

"You were the star player of that match if I remember correctly," Sam reminded him, smirking at the way Joshua looked away from him. "All I did was pass you the ball."

"Well, if you hadn't passed me the ball, the Falcons would have lost that game. Honestly, Sam, why the hell didn't you go pro? You were the best damn soccer player we had and I know you played in Stanford," Joshua said, shaking his head in disbelief.

The conversation peaked Dean's interest. He knew that Sam played soccer; it was the only game outside of baseball that he would participate in when the guys at the company would start playing. And he knew that Sam was good; he had been forced to play against the taller man on more than one occasion and always was on the losing team when that occurred. What he hadn't known was that Sam had played through high school and college.

"I was actually offered the starting center position on the Olympic team," Sam admitted. Dean's jaw dropped. "I turned them down. I was looking at law schools and Jess needed me and then the war started… it was all too much, too quickly. And now, I guess I'll never play again."

"You don't know that," Joshua argued. "You can go home, rehab, and get back to playing again."

"What the hell kind of coach would want a player with severe knee damage?" Sam asked, shaking his head. "It was just a hobby, Joshua, something I did for fun. It was like reading."

"If there was an Olympic team for reading, you'd sure as hell be on it," Joshua muttered. "Mr. Larson about died when you told him that you had already read Lord of the Rings and wanted to know if you could read something more interesting."

"I still wonder about that. I mean, what was wrong with the fact that I didn't like Tolkien? The guy totally wrote around the plot line, over describing _everything_! He spent ten pages describing a freaking tree with words so long that even _I_ couldn't understand them!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean found it interesting how Joshua changed the subject when things looked like they would be getting too awkward or too emotional. It was also interesting the way he did it too, giving Sam something more pleasant to think about then the current situation. It sounded like they were discussing Sam's high school English class.

"You were a freshman, Sam! You weren't supposed to insult the guy's favorite author and then demand to read something more interesting like Shakespeare!" Joshua retorted.

"Shakespeare was more tragic, not more interesting," Sam corrected. "And at the time, it was the only person I hadn't read yet."

"You're insane, Sam," Joshua said, shaking his head. "No wonder you got into Stanford. Any college would kill to have a freak of nature that actually enjoys learning like you do."

Sam merely rolled his eyes. Dean was finding the entire conversation humorous, for he had never heard about Sam in high school. It was definitely amusing to see how little Sam had changed since then. He was still in love with literature and was planning on going back to school to become a lawyer after the war.

"You'd think a parent would be happy that their kid did so well in school, instead of complaining how much work you did," he muttered darkly. It was Joshua's turn to roll his eyes.

"Your father's a bastard and you know it, Sammy," he said. Dean leaned against the bed post he was standing beside, thankful that it was vacant. He was interested in this thread of the conversation; Sam hadn't exactly gone into any details about his father when they were hanging out in that foxhole outside of the fact that he was an abusive son of a bitch.

"I know," Sam said, casting his gaze down to the blankets he was surrounded by. "But some days, it just wasn't enough to know that he is one. Especially when things started getting really bad and the kids at school started noticing."

Dean sucked in a deep breath, determined to find Sam's father and rip the man limb from limb. How could the son of a bitch not see who Sam really was? How nice and caring the guy was, how smart and intelligent? Or did the man see it, but not really care? If it were the latter, than Dean was going to bring the man back and kill him again.

"That's when you sucked it up and told them that you were in a bar fight and the other guy was in the hospital, right?" Joshua asked. Sam smiled. It wasn't as big as the ones before, but it was still there. Dean was finding a whole new level of respect for Joshua and was seeing why Sam was friends with the guy.

"The jocks were certainly scared of me after that," he said with a sly smirk. "Jess thought it was hilarious. Not the beating part, the fact that Joe Collins was scared to death of me."

"I think we all found that part funny," Joshua said. "Especially when you told him to back off of Nick Hanes… God, that was so funny! His face was so white and he looked as though he wet his pants!"

"Really?" Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I never noticed."

"You were too busy making sure that Nick got his lunch money back," Joshua said. "You are such a girl sometimes, Sammy."

"That's why Jess loves me, or so she says," Sam said, staring off into the distance. He had a vacant look on his face and Dean knew that he was remembering something that he didn't want to.

"Sam?"

Joshua's concerned voice was back. Dean had heard it enough times over the past month to recognize it.

"Do you remember that time I was out of school for two weeks and when I finally did come back, I was in a walking cast and had my arm in a sling?" Sam asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Dean could hardly hear him, so he inched closer.

"It was right after your first date with Jess," Joshua recalled. "It was right before you told me about what John had been doing to you all those years. Why you kept showing up at school with bruises and sprains and such."

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "The bastard chose that one night not to be drunk as a skunk and act like a real father. He reinforced curfew, all right. I was grounded for a month for being home twenty minutes late. Jess nearly broke up with me for not calling her back until I told her what happened."

"She's too good for you, Sammy," Joshua said, obviously trying to change the subject. He had heard this story before, that much was obvious, and he didn't want to remember what Sam was telling him.

"Yeah, she certainly is," Sam said with a wry smile. "I really miss her."

"She misses you too, man," Joshua replied, smiling softly. "And you have an excuse to go home, you know. You can, any time you want. The only thing keeping you here is you."

Sam's eyes flitted to Dean and in that instant Dean knew that Sam had known the entire time that the older man had been in the room. He had been talking about his past with Joshua as a way of telling Dean more about himself, about the things he had experienced when he was younger.

"I just can't leave, Joshua. Not without knowing that… that you'll be okay without me here to watch your sorry ass. Do you know how upset Marianne will be with me if you get yourself killed over here and I wasn't there to look out for you?"

"Dude, she won't blame you. She'll blame me for being the fucking hero all the time, which I totally am not. Not compared to you and Richardson, at least. Honestly, don't you guys know when to just let things go?"

"I guess not," Sam muttered, his eyes leaving Dean's and looking back at his blankets. He used his good hand to pick at them, intent on tearing them to threads. Joshua's hand stopped the motion.

"Look, Sam, you're not doing yourself any good staying here any longer, okay? You need to go home," he said. He was using his doctor voice, another voice Dean had become far too familiar with over the past month.

"To a father who wants to kill me for joining the army and a girl who's probably pissed at me because I had to play the hero and now I can't walk? Or to Stanford, who wanted me to be in their law program but I didn't answer their phone calls and tell them that I was going to war? I don't want to return to that."

"No. You'll be returning to Jess, the girl who loves you more than anything. You'll be returning to a home and friends who all wish you were there instead of here. Stanford will be over the moon to have you back and your father has probably landed himself in jail by now."

"Jess didn't say anything in her last letter about the bastard being in jail," Sam muttered, but Dean could tell that the logic behind Joshua's words was finally working on him. It wouldn't be too much longer before Joshua and Sam's doctor finally had him convinced enough to go home.

Joshua offered a weary smile, which Sam returned. They both looked beyond exhausted; Joshua, Dean knew, hadn't slept more than a couple of hours here and there over the past month, and Sam had barely gotten over the whole dying thing.

"I'm going to go grab some food and then go to sleep," Joshua said, yawning as if to prove Dean's observation correct. "You look like you could use some shut eye yourself."

"I've been doing nothing but sleep for the past month," Sam retorted. "I could really use a good book."

"I think I might have a copy of Lord of the Rings lying around," Joshua teased. Sam looked at Joshua in mock horror.

"I'd rather read the army handbook than that!" he said. "Please, anything but Lord of the Rings!"

Joshua let out a laugh, before patting Sam on the shoulder gently.

"I'll see what I can scrounge up for you. If anything, I'll steal a couple of Dean's letters from Cassie and let you read those," he said.

Dean shot daggers to the backside of Joshua's head. There was no way he was letting Sam read those; hell, he didn't even know that Joshua knew that Dean still had those tucked into his things. He would have to find a better hiding place for them.

"I doubt that will happen," Sam said, smirking. "But you could always try. I'd like to see what Dean does to you for that."

"Okay," Joshua said with a laugh. "I'll see you later, then."

"Kay," Sam said, yawning hugely. His eyes started sliding shut.

Joshua got out of the chair and walked towards the door at the opposite end of post-op, the one that led towards the commanding officer's office and the OR.

"Dude, you can quit acting like a statue now," Sam said, his eyes flying open. All traces of tiredness were gone from his face.

Dean blinked, confused for a moment, and then remembered that Sam had known the entire time that he was standing there.

"You didn't have to get rid of Joshua, you know. I would have gotten around to interrupting you two lovebirds eventually," Dean said, smirking as he walked over and took over the chair that Joshua had just abandoned. "Though I have to say, if law school doesn't work out for you, you could always become an actor."

Sam grimaced.

"I hate doing that to him, but I was seriously sick of reminiscing about high school," he said. "It gets kind of annoying most of the time when he does that. It is his medical training, always keep the patient thinking that everything's hunky dory, even if it's not. Remind them of better times and then they won't remember that anything bad happened to them."

"You're pretty bad at allowing Joshua to do that, you know," Dean said, smirking. "You are way too emo for that."

"Shut up," Sam retorted good naturedly. His smile faded. "Speaking of emo, I just wanted to say sorry about earlier. I wasn't thinking and everyone has been treating me like I'm made of glass… and I finally understand why Joshua was avoiding my question about the whole leg thing."

"He told you," Dean stated flatly. Sam nodded, even though it hadn't been a question.

"Yeah," he said. "He did. I'm glad he did, too. It makes a lot more sense now, why everyone wants me to go home so badly. I was getting worried that you guys were getting sick of my mug over here."

"Dang it, you caught us," Dean said, snapping his fingers. He felt like a dork for doing it, but was instantly rewarded with a laugh from Sam. "Seriously, Sam, I don't care if you go all girly on me. Just give me some warning next time, okay?"

"So, we're good?"

"Yeah, we're good. Bitch."

"Jerk."


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the kickass reviews you all are giving me.**

**Author's Note: I kind of like this chapter. It's one of my favorites. It has some plot in it, even if it's short. **

**Author's Note 2: This is my fourth update this week. Hope you guys are enjoying my writing streak. I have about three or four more chapters left in this story before it's complete. I will have another update up on Saturday, hopefully. It depends on how much I write between now and then.**

**Author's Note 3: There are some parts of this chapter that might not seem really believable, but they're in here for the sake of a good piece of fiction. **

**Read and review, please!!**

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 18**

Sam was bored. He was supposed to be sleeping, but wasn't tired enough to go to sleep. He had no books, no laptop, and no newspapers of all things to keep his mind occupied. So he was stuck, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the fact that he was scheduled to go home in two weeks and how much he really didn't want to. He missed Jess like crazy, but he also couldn't just give up on his friends here, Dean and Joshua especially. Bobby would be all right, provided that someone was there to watch out for him. It could be someone like Ryan or Smith, for Bobby wasn't the same type of soldier that Sam or Dean was. Dean, however, would probably get himself killed out there if Sam wasn't there to watch his back. And Sam couldn't accept that fact. He hadn't saved Dean's life out there only to turn around and find out he was killed the moment he went home. Joshua… Joshua was his best friend and had been since eighth grade when Sam had first moved to California. They had been together for literally every step of their lives since then. How was he supposed to just walk away from that?

Sam had been too busy pondering his thoughts to notice Dean walking in

"Hey," Dean said, sitting down in the chair and yawning. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

"Good morning to you too," Sam retorted, stretching his bad arm carefully. The doctor had told him to do that every now and then, to keep the muscles from becoming too stiff. "Did _you_ get any sleep last night?"

"You never told me that Joshua fucking snores like a chainsaw," Dean muttered. "Do you know how hard it is to sleep through _that_? I'd have better luck trying to sleep through a Metallica concert!"

"And let me guess, you have slept through a Metallica concert?" Sam asked, smirking ever so slightly. Dean rolled his eyes in response.

"My first foster parents were huge fans of eighties rock music and Metallica was my dad's favorite," he said with a shrug. "I might have gone to one or two of their concerts when I was five. Never did make it to the end. Heard that the guitar solos were always wicked, though I would never be able to tell you."

Sam looked at him incredulously. He had meant that as a joke; he hadn't actually expected Dean to have slept through one. He also wasn't expecting Dean to mention his foster parents in such an offhanded way like that.

"What?" Dean asked, catching Sam's stare. "It's the truth! And Joshua's snoring is way louder than any James Hetfield song."

"You know the lead singer of Metallica?" Sam asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He shook his head. "Dude, you're insane. Next you're going to be telling me that… you know what, you probably do know that so never mind."

Dean looked slightly embarrassed and saddened at the end of Sam's ramblings. He was playing with his sling nervously and avoiding Sam's gaze.

"I, uh, Metallica was my real dad's favorite band," he murmured. Sam instantly felt guilty for teasing him; his friend was trying to be honest and tell him some of what he had kept hidden for the majority of the past two years and Sam was being an ass.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Dean shrugged.

"You didn't know," he said, sighing and running his hand through his hair. "Anyway, we're going to have to do something about Joshua's snoring."

"Try throwing a pillow at him," Sam suggested. He was grateful for the topic change, but at the same time, couldn't help but wish that Dean would talk a little more about what he remembered about his father. "It always works for me! Of course, it resulted in a lot of ripped up pillows and feathers all over the place because Joshua didn't know when to let things go or recognize a joke when he saw one."

"You guys had late night pillow fights? Dude, that is so girly!" Dean teased, smirking. Sam rolled his eyes in response.

"Like you've never had a pillow fight before," he said. Dean merely shook his head.

"Next, you'll be telling me that you painted your nails and talked about the crushes you guys had," he said, laughing. "Honestly, you call me insane for knowing the lead singer of Metallica, which I might add, you recognized right away, and then you go and tell me you have late night pillow fights with Joshua."

Sam looked away. Though he'd never admit it to Dean, one of his favorite bands was Metallica. He remembered back before the fire that had changed so much in his life that his father would go out and work on the car with a couple of beers and blast _Hit The Lights_ among other songs on the ancient record player they had. His mother would go out there and join him when the songs changed from Metallica to Boston's _More Than a Feeling_ or _Peace of Mind_. Sam remembered just sitting in the driver's seat of the car and watching as his mother and father would just sit around, laugh, and talk about meaningless things. They were among some of the best nights of Sam's life.

"You okay?" Dean asked, catching the faraway look in Sam's eyes. Sam nodded, blinking back the sting of tears that threatened to fall at the memory. He missed his mother so much, even after all this time it hurt to think of her.

"I'm fine," he said, sighing. "You know, if Joshua's snoring gets too loud, I'm sure the doctors wouldn't mind if their patient that signed out AMA came back."

He knew Dean would never go for it; hell, if he had the choice, he would pick Joshua's snoring over sleeping in a creepy assed hospital that was basically empty except for one person.

"You know, if the antiseptic smell bothers you too much, you could always walk out of here. We have an extra cot in the tent," Dean offered.

Sam merely shrugged, knowing that would never happen. Even if he were able to walk, it wouldn't matter where he slept. The thoughts and nightmares plaguing him almost every minute since he woke up would continue to haunt him.

Joshua chose that moment to make an appearance, carrying two white envelopes.

"James was on mail call duty and figured it would be easier to give your mail to me, seeing as he rarely comes in here and Dean is such a hard person to find nowadays," he said, handing one of the envelopes to Dean and the other to Sam. He turned back to Dean. "You should probably open that. It looks pretty important."

Sam glanced at the letter Joshua gave him as Dean opened his.

"Josh, this one's addressed to you," he said, looking from the address to Joshua and back again. He flipped it over. "And it's already been open."

"Read the letter inside," Joshua suggested, sitting at the foot of Sam's bed, being careful not to knock the thick white cast that was encasing most of Sam's leg.

"Is this for real or is this a really big joke?" Dean demanded, looking from the letter, to Sam, to Joshua, and back again. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. Sam looked up from unfolding Joshua's letter with one hand to Dean in confusion.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's for real," Joshua said at the same time, a big grin crossing his face. "I thought the same thing until I asked Clayton."

"You talked to Clayton?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. Joshua nodded, shrugging ever so slightly. "How big of a chewing out did you get?"

"Not as big as the one you two are going to receive when he comes here tomorrow," Joshua said, smirking as Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks.

"He's coming here? Tomorrow?" Sam demanded, still trying to get the letter unfolded. Dean took pity on him and unfolded it for him. Sam took a quick scan of the letter, his mouth falling open in shock.

"Yeah. He said something about presenting you two with purple hearts and going to kill you both himself for giving him more gray hair," Joshua said.

"Joshua, what is this?" Sam asked quietly, going from surprised and anxious to relieved and guilty at the same time.

"What's what? The transfer? I requested one a couple of days ago when it looked like you would be going home," Joshua said, shrugging again. "Marianne was so excited when I told her that I was going to be coming home the week after next. She and Jess are already planning the party."

"Joshua, you need to stay here," Sam said, fighting back the tears that were threatening to overcome him for the second time that day. "You'll do more good over here."

"I have no choice in the matter anymore, Sammy," Joshua said firmly. "I put in for a transfer back to the veteran medical center back in California and they said yes. You're just going to have to get over it."

"You're really going home?" Sam asked, not caring how pathetic and five years old he sounded at that moment. "For good?"

"Dean is too," Joshua said, snatching the letter Dean was staring at in shock out of the elder man's hands and handing it to Sam. "You can stop worrying about us getting ourselves blown up over here."

Sam couldn't believe it. Joshua and Dean were really going to be going home with him.

"Cassie's going to be so freaked when she finds out," Dean murmured, a faraway look entering his eyes. Sam looked at his friend, thinking about just how much Dean deserved to be going home. He had done so much over here, so much more than Sam could ever hope to do, that he needed to go home and be a twenty-six year old husband again. He didn't need to continue to be the hero, the way he had been for the past two years. It wasn't any surprise to Sam that Dean was getting an honorable discharge.

"We're going home," Sam murmured, staring at Joshua's letter of transfer to a veteran hospital back in California and Dean's honorable discharge. "We're actually going home."


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Author's Note: I am sorry about the length between updates. I don't want to make excuses, but I've been busy with exams and what not and haven't had time to update. I hope I make up for it with this chapter.**

**Author's Note 2: I have one more chapter left in this story. As much as I hate for it to end, it is time to say good-bye. **

**Read and review!!**

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Supernatural

"_**The War to End All Wars**_**"**

**Chapter 19**

Sam winced as the nurse cut the last of his stitches out and put a fresh bandage over the newly born scar. The tug of the thread coming out of his skin was not a pleasant experience, even if he had endured it countless of times before. It was not one thing he would ever get used to.

Sam rolled his injured ankle gingerly, glad to finally have it out of the bulky cast. His entire leg was now encased in a splint, one that ran from his thigh to his foot. It was very uncomfortable, but at least he had some motion back in his lower leg. The doctor had told him that as long as he stayed off of it, then he wouldn't have to wear the cast and could work on slowly rehabbing his ankle and knee with strict orders to stop if it became too much.

Dean was waiting on the other side of the partition as the nurse rolled Sam back to the hospital bed. Sam glared at Dean as the older man opened his mouth to make some sort of snide comment about the younger's being in a wheelchair. Dean rolled his eyes in response and followed them to the bed.

The nurse helped Sam back into the bed before disappearing through the doors. Sam watched her go wistfully, wishing that he could walk out of here on his own steam for once. He hated not being able to walk and forced to depend on other people to do basic things such as getting dressed and going to the bathroom. It was embarrassing and annoying.

"Clayton's supposed to be by after lunch," Dean said, perching on the end of Sam's bed. His arm was now out of a sling; his collar bone was almost completely healed now. He had an inch long scar above his left eye, the only physical evidence of the hell both of them had been through.

"Joy," Sam muttered, fiddling with the blanket that he was lying on top of and wishing for the millionth time that morning that he could get out of the post-op ward. He was finally out of the woods for getting infections and he was beginning to climb the walls due to boredom. Books and laptops could only hold his attention for so long before they got boring.

Dean shot him a sympathetic glance, which Sam ignored. He knew that Dean was just sticking around because Sam was in the hospital, and most of the time he was grateful for the company, but sometimes, like this morning for example, he just wished people would leave him the hell alone. Especially people like Dean who could walk and do things by themselves.

"Dude, you keep picking at that blanket and there's not going to be anything left," the older man commented. Sam blinked, not even realizing that he had been fiddling with the blanket. It had become such a reflex action nowadays that he hardly noticed when he started doing it.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, casting another longing glance towards the door. Dean seemed to catch it.

"I'll be right back," he said, getting off the bed. "Don't go anywhere."

Sam smirked at him, rolling his eyes.

"Crippled here, remember? Unable to walk?"

"Yeah, well, knowing you, I turn my back for a moment and you're walking around and sneaking into the nurses' tent," Dean teased. Sam smiled.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"You'll see," the older man said, a mysterious look taking over his face. "I'll be right back."

Sam sighed as he watched his friend walk away. He wondered what Richardson was up to and worried slightly that whatever it was, it was bound to get them both into trouble.

Dean returned five minutes later with a nurse behind him, pushing a wheelchair. Sam looked from the wheelchair to Dean and raised an eyebrow.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, smirking. "Cause I have to tell you man, those wheels aren't your style."

"Funny," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "And no, it's not for me. It's for you. Your chariot awaits, your highness."

Sam looked from the nurse standing behind Dean, to Dean, and to the wheelchair, eyebrows raised.

"Really?" he asked, hopeful. He was finally going to get out of this damned hospital. Granted, it wasn't on his own steam, but he would take what he could get.

"We're wasting daylight," Dean said, smiling as the nurse parked the wheelchair beside Sam's bed and helped him into it. Sam couldn't find it in him to resent being pushed around in the damned wheelchair; if it meant he could get the hell out of the hospital, he was all for it.

* * *

Joshua was the only one in the mess tent, staring intently at his cup of coffee. He had just finished an eight hour shift of nothing but surgery and he was completely exhausted. He was debating whether to call home or go straight to bed.

Joshua was more than looking forward to returning home. It had been close to three years since he had seen his son, who was now almost five. And it had been that long since he had seen his wife for longer than two hours at a time.

"Dude, what is Whitely doing to that poor coffee cup?"

"I think he's searching the inside of it for a genie who will give him the twenty bucks he now owes me, seeing as he's broke."

The stage whispers of Dean and Sam reached his ears and Joshua blinked, looking up from his cup of coffee. He was extremely surprised to see Sam standing in front of him, leaning heavily on the table for support. Dean was standing behind him and the wheelchair was abandoned somewhere near the door.

"Did you seriously just walk over here from the door?" Joshua asked, his eyes widening as Sam nodded. "And I so do not owe you twenty bucks."

"You do too," Sam retorted. "You told Dean that you'd pay me twenty bucks if I was up and walking around before I went back home."

"You told him about that?" Joshua asked, shifting his gaze to a now grinning Dean. "You weren't supposed to!"

"Hey, I only told him about it after he got his sorry ass here on his own steam," Dean defended, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's not my fault Winchester is a stubborn idiot."

"Hey!" Sam protested. He stumbled slightly as he shifted his weight to a more comfortable position. Joshua was slightly amused to see how Dean reacted instantly; offering his assistance in case Sam needed it and the younger pushing him away.

"You are, Sammy," Joshua informed his friend. "And aren't you supposed to be on permanent bed rest until that leg fully heals?"

"Oh, come off it, Josh," Sam said, waving his hand in annoyance. "My leg doesn't even hurt. I'm fine."

"Yeah, I bet," Joshua said, sighing as Sam shifted his weight again. "You know, it's not a crime to sit down."

"I'm fine," Sam said stubbornly as Dean sat down on the bench.

" Stubborn idjit," Joshua muttered, knowing full well that both Dean and Sam could hear him. Sam stuck his tongue out at him childishly.

"You've been hanging around Singer too much," Dean commented, eyeing Joshua's untouched coffee enviously.

"Here," Joshua said, handing him the cup. "Though I'm telling you, that stuff is probably their worst yet. It's not even in the vicinity of liquid. It's more like tar."

"It can't be any worse than Singer's poor attempts to make coffee with a helmet and a radiator," Dean said, grabbing the cup eagerly and taking a huge swig. Sam laughed as the other man pulled an awful face and put the mug now. "Ugh. I take that back. That stuff is disgusting!"

He proceeded to pour the rest of it on the dirt floor.

"Dude, you just wasted a perfectly good cup of coffee!" Sam protested, finally maneuvering himself so he could sit down on the bench next to Dean. Joshua didn't miss the flash of pain that crossed his friend's face. "What the hell is wrong with you? You must be coming down with something."

"That wasn't coffee," Dean said, shuddering. Joshua smiled. "That was more like liquid plague."

"It must have been awful if the human garbage disposal wouldn't drink it."

Sam and Dean's heads spun around at the sound of the new voice. Joshua looked up as well, the smile widening into a grin as Bobby walked into the tent. Caleb and Jo were right behind him with Clayton bringing up the rear.

"Bobby!" Sam and Dean said at the exact same moment. Dean rose to shake his friend's hand while Sam stayed seated.

"Sup, Winchester?" Jo asked, sitting down next to him. Caleb sat next to her as Bobby and Dean took up residence on Sam's other side.

"You two have got to be the biggest pains in my ass," Clayton said, looking at Sam and Dean, who exchanged smirks. "It's going to be a sad day when the army loses the both of you."

"Wow, captain, was that actually a compliment?" Sam asked in mock shock. He looked at Dean. "Was the infamous Captain Clayton actually giving us lowlifes a compliment?"

"What is the world coming to?" Dean asked, smiling impossibly wider as the entire group laughed.

"Seriously, boys," Clayton said. "Troop's sure going to miss the two of you. You have saved more lives than any of the others. It's going to be impossible to replace you."

"Many have tried," Dean said, sighing in mock seriousness.

"The camp sure is going to be quiet without the three of you pulling pranks on the rest of us," Caleb said.

"How are we going to survive?" Jo asked sarcastically, smiling at Sam and Dean.

"I'm still there!" Bobby protested. "I'm just as good as they are."

"You keep thinking that," Sam said, smirking. They all laughed again.

Clayton cleared his throat, successfully quieting the group. They all turned to look at him.

"Richardson, Winchester, you're the best damn soldiers the army has ever seen," he said. Sam and Dean exchanged knowing glances and Joshua sighed. Did Clayton really need to inflate their egos anymore than they already were?

"And what are we? Chopped liver?" Jo asked, smiling to show she was being sarcastic. It was sometimes hard to tell with Jo.

"Seriously, Clayton, what's your point? We already know we're awesome," Dean said, deadpanning. "That's why everything always happens to us. Cause we're awesome."

"And not at all conceited," Caleb commented, smirking as everyone laughed again.

"You're just jealous," Sam told him. Joshua figured that Winchester was probably right; a lot of people _were _jealous of him and Richardson.

"Gentlemen," Clayton said warningly. Jo let out a snort. "And lady. What I was going to say, was that even though you're going to be impossible to replace, I'm glad you're going home so that you can stop showing up the rest of us."

"You hear that, Sammy?" Dean asked as everyone else laughed again. "They're sending us home because we're too damn awesome."

"I heard them, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "And I think Caleb _is_ right. You are way too conceited. Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean retorted, sticking his tongue out at Sam. He earned another eye roll.

"Boys," Clayton said, shaking his head at their antics. "I have something to give both of you, something that has been earned too many times to count, over and over again."

"Presents? You're giving us presents? Sammy, they're giving us presents!" Dean said, grinning as he earned an elbow in the ribs from Sam. Bobby would have done it, but a stern glance from Joshua told him not to. Bobby happened to be sitting on the side where Dean's broken ribs were.

"Dude, someone's going to mistake you for a four-year-old if you keep this up," Sam informed his friend.

Clayton cleared his throat again. Dean and Sam turned back to him.

"If you two idjits would just shut up for a moment, you'd hear that I'm giving you both a purple heart for being injured in the line of duty," he said.

Though Sam and Dean had already been informed of it, thanks to Joshua, the look on both of their faces was one of amazement as Clayton handed them both the little black box that held the high medal honor.

"Thanks, Clayton," Sam said. Joshua could have sworn he saw tears in his friend's eyes, though he would deny that he ever thought such a thing. Dean's face was carefully controlled not to show any emotion as he accepted the box.

"Thank you, sir," he said, opening it and admiring the medal inside it. Joshua smiled, knowing that this would probably be the only reaction any of them outside of Sam and Cassie ever saw.

"Now, as one last order to you both," Clayton said. Both Sam and Dean looked at him intently. Joshua didn't know if he had ever seen those two as attentive as they were now.

"Yessir?" they asked in unison.

"Be safe and don't you ever come back here, understood?" Clayton asked.

"Yessir," Sam and Dean said at the same time, saluting. Clayton saluted them back. Joshua felt slightly awed; he had never seen those two salute anyone before, except if they were mocking them.

"Good," Clayton said, nodding them. "Now where's the beer?"

"Screw the beer," Dean said, grinning again. The serious, almost chick-flick moment was now over. "Joshua has genuine tequila in his tent."


	20. Chapter 20

**This chapter would have been up three days ago if FanFiction hadn't crapped out... so, I'm sorry about the increased delay!!! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Author's Note: I am so sorry that it has taken me close to three months to update this thing again. I have been so busy and I've been working on another project that I just let this one go. I hope this final chapter makes up for it. **

**Author's Note 2: This chapter end is really cheesy, just so you know. But I liked it, so it's staying.**

**Read and review!! It's the last chapter, so you better!! :-) **

**The War to End All Wars**

**Chapter 20**

Sam tossed another shirt into the already stuffed duffel bag and sighed. There was no way all of these things were his. When he had gotten here, his bag had consisted of three shirts, two pairs of pants, a few changes of underwear, and a lot of clean socks along with the photo of Jess and the two books he had lost during his stay here. He might have had a toothbrush and a comb at one point, but those minor details didn't matter.

"Dude, how the hell did you end up with so much crap?"

Sam blinked and looked up, surprised to see Dean standing next to his cot and looking at him in surprised amusement.

"I was just wondering the same thing," he admitted, pulling out the shirt he had just thrown into the duffel bag. It definitely was his. He remembered wearing it the day before he and Dean had been assigned to that crappy patrol in the center of the city and ended up being blown to hell. He remembered chucking it at Dean's head after the run through the thunderstorm because he was so sick of the way Dean could fall asleep at the drop of the hat while it took Sam hours to get to sleep. And he remembered picking it up and shoving it back with the rest of his things the morning after, thinking about how it was his lucky shirt and the fact that he needed to wash it.

"I don't think this happens to be yours," Dean said, smirking as he reached across Sam's shoulder and pulled a skimpy piece of lingerie.

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up, turning over his duffel bag in the process. He laughed when he saw that his bag was full of the bits and pieces of women's clothing.

"Dude, seriously, are you like gender confused?" Bobby asked, walking into the tent. His dark green t-shirt was even darker with sweat from the calisthenics he had just completed in the ninety plus degree heat.

"I think I must have grabbed the wrong duffel after all, Dean," Sam said, a smile playing on his lips. "This is definitely Bobby's. Thanks for pointing that out."

"Anytime," Dean said, smirking in reply. Bobby rolled his eyes and flopped down on his cot.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "You think you're so clever."

"You're just jealous," Dean informed him, throwing a random piece of women's undergarment at Bobby. It landed squarely on his forehead.

Bobby merely rolled his eyes and tossed it off as Sam began repacking his duffel bag, minus the lingerie. He stopped for a moment when he picked up his blood-stained bandana, remembering the first time this had come in handy and who had given it to him.

_It was Sam's second day out in the field. He was paired up with an older, balding guy that he hadn't met before, but had introduced himself as Robert Singer. He seemed nice enough, though he tended to be a little grouchy at times. _

_They had been walking for the past two hours and there had been no sign of any approaching enemy attack. All was quiet. It was too quiet for Sam's liking. He didn't know what had him so on edge, but there was something not quite right about the building they were about to enter._

_"Singer, wait a sec," he said, putting a hand on Singer's shoulder. _

_"What is it, Winchester?" Singer asked, shifting his gun from his shoulder to a more ready position. "You see something?"_

_"No, but I just don't like—" Sam was cut off by the sound of a bomb exploding. Sam was thrown away from Singer and was knocked out. He came to a little while later with a red bandana tied around his forehead._

_"You have a concussion," Singer said. The older man was bleeding from a small gash in his arm, but it didn't look too serious. Or at least, not from Sam's point of view. "Whitely is coming. He'll stitch up that gash in your head. For now, just keep the bandana on."_

Sam had ended up keeping the bandana and had made a lifelong friend in the process. Joshua had given him endless grief about that one.

"…and then Joshua was like 'Bill, he's going, so just back off'," Dean said, shaking his head as he zipped up his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. "It was pretty awesome, watching that little twerp go against Bill of all people and get his way."

"Sure you have enough crap there, Winchester?" Bobby asked from across the tent. He got up when he saw what Sam was holding. "You found it!"

He snatched the bandana out Sam's hands.

"Yeah, it somehow ended up with my things," Sam replied, picking up another shirt. It was full of holes, had unidentifiable stains on it, and the writing on it had long since faded, but he recognized it instantly.

"Dude, you've had that thing all this time and you didn't tell me?" Dean demanded, taking the shirt from Sam's hands.

The shirt was Dean's favorite and the attachment he had to the thing was scary. Six months ago, Bobby had dared Sam to take the shirt because Dean had pissed him off on the patrol that day. Sam had also been ticked at Dean that day and had had no qualms about taking the shirt. He had meant to give it back, but so many things had happened since then and Dean had never asked for it, that Sam had just forgotten about it.

"Sorry, man," Sam said, laughing as Dean proceeded to pull the shirt on over top of his standard military shirt. "I forgot I had it."

Dean shrugged, before pulling the shirt off and throwing it into his duffel bag.

Clayton chose that moment to walk in. He looked in surprise from Dean to Sam to Bobby, before merely shrugging.

"Harvelle mentioned something about you two boneheads coming for a visit," he said. "Just as well that you're done; Singer's needed for a patrol."

"But Clayton, I just got off a damned night patrol an hour ago!" Bobby complained, throwing his magazine to the ground. "Make Reeves or Smith do it. I'm not going on another one."

"I wasn't asking if you wanted to," Clayton said. "It's an order. And both Reeves and Smith are going too, as well as Ryan, Harvelle, Sheppard, and Ford."

"Sheppard and Ford?" Dean asked.

"Sounds like it's pretty important," Sam commented at the same time. "What's up?"

He couldn't help but feel the familiar rush of adrenaline that shot through him every time he went on an assignment, even though Sam knew that he wouldn't be going on this one.

"There's been an attack nearby," Clayton said, looking grim as he took off his standard army cap and rubbed his balding head. "The enemy is pushing on this way pretty hard. You boys are lucky to be getting out of here. It's going to be brutal."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, both knowing what the other was thinking. They wanted to be out there in the thick of things, doing what it was they had done best. It was agitating hearing the talk of what was going to be a bloody battle and not being able to be apart of it.

"Sheppard and Ford are your replacements," Bobby said more quietly. "They're pretty decent, but not as good as you two."

"We need to be out there," Sam muttered. "If it's bad, then you need us."

Dean and Bobby both looked as though they agreed with him, but Clayton shook his head.

"Kid, you're barely walking as it is," he said. "You need to go home. As does Richardson. You two boys have more than earned it. Go. That's my final order to the two of you. I don't ever want to see your faces around here again."

"Clayton, Richardson can help us," Bobby protested, not looking at Sam, who was trying to control his anger. "He'd be better at this then Sheppard and Ford. They just got here."

"They have to learn sometime," Clayton said. "Richardson has a plane to catch soon, within an hour if I'm not mistaken. Whitely is waiting for the two of you by your jeep, ready to go. I've come to say good-bye and get Singer on his way to the patrol."

"Forget it," Bobby said. "I'm not going. Get someone else to go on your suicide mission."

"That was a direct order, Singer," Clayton said in a dangerously low voice. "Now get your ass to the mess tent or I will have you court marshaled a second time."

"Then do it," Bobby said hotly. "I'm not going out there to get myself killed. No way in hell."

"Singer, just do it," Dean said quietly. "You will be fine. You're better at staying out of trouble then the rest of us are."

"Someone has to train the new guys," Sam said lightly, his hands shaking as he tossed another shirt into his bag. He pointed to the bandana that was still in Bobby's hands. "Try not to use that, okay?"

Bobby nodded once, looking away from the two of them.

"Get your ass to the mess tent in ten minutes, Singer," Clayton said. "That's an order. I expect you to obey it. As for you two, stay safe. Understand? No trying to be the hero back in the States."

"Yes sir," Sam and Dean said in unison. They both saluted the captain as he made his way out of the tent. He was quick to return it.

"Tell Reeves and Harvelle we said 'bye', 'kay?" Dean asked. Bobby nodded again. Sam could tell they were moments away from a huge chick flick moment, and mentally promised himself to mock the both of them for the rest of their life.

"Invite me to the wedding, man," Bobby said, glancing at Sam for the first time. "I'll go AWOL if I have to."

"Definitely," Sam promised, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. This could be the last time he ever saw his friend. Bobby could easily get himself blown up, if not today, then some other day, trying to do something reckless and stupid.

"Stay safe, man," Dean said. He smiled slightly. "And that's an order."

Bobby nodded again. Sam bit back a joke that was at the tip of his tongue, feeling that now was an inappropriate time to start joking around. Then again, he thought. When else are you supposed to joke around?

"You trying to become the next bobble head figurine?" he asked. "Cause I have to tell you, you're too bald."

Bobby smirked and Dean let out a loud laugh.

"That was pretty good, there, Sammy," he said, grinning.

"Shut up, you idjits," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "And Dean, it's _Sam_. Sammy is a chubby twelve year-old."

"Thank god we're going home, Sammy," Dean said. "Any more of his crazy notion that your name is Sam and I'd think we'd all belong in a mental hospital."

"Haha, very funny," Bobby said as Sam rolled his eyes.

"You already belong in a mental hospital," he informed Dean as he tossed another shirt into his duffel bag. "Remind me to find you a padded cell when we get back to the States."

Dean smirked.

"You know you love it, Sammy," he said.

"Seriously, it's Sam," Sam said, zipping up his bag. "And thanks, man."

"For what?"

Dean was puzzled by the sudden change of subjects.

"For saving my life more time than I can count," he said with a shrug.

"You're the one who saved my sorry ass out there," Dean said. Sam knew his friend would have denied the fact that there were tears in his eyes, but they were there. "I didn't deserve it, but thanks."

"What the hell happened to no chick flick moments?" Bobby demanded, his eyes widening. "I mean seriously, you two are like moments away from hugging."

"I just can't help it," Dean said, blinking and looking away from Sam. "I'm in love with Sammy. He's so handsome!"

"God, it's no wonder why no one else can stand you guys," Joshua said, walking into the tent. The door fell shut with a small thud. "You're so gay."

"You know you love it, Whitely," Dean said, smirking as Joshua rolled his eyes.

"Jeep's leaving in five minutes," he said, glancing around the tent. "You want some help."

Sam tossed him his bag as he struggled to his feet and grabbed his crutches.

"You can carry that," he said, wincing as he resettled himself on his crutches. His arm still ached from time to time, but it was getting better the more he used it.

"I think we're ready to go," Dean said. He turned to Singer. "I guess this is it."

"Send me a postcard," Bobby said, looking wistfully at the door. "I should probably go before Clayton makes good on his threat to court marshal me. Hell, he might just skip the court marshalling and shoot me. I'll be seeing you two."

"Later, Singer," Sam said, smiling sadly as the older man walked out of the tent. He was going to miss him.

"We should go. Clayton said that they're going to be closing off all traffic soon," Joshua said. "I don't want to be stuck here in the middle of the fighting."

Dean and Sam exchanged another glance and shrugged.

"Let's go then," Dean said.

Sam let out a sigh, taking one last glance around the tent he had spent most of the last three years in and followed Dean and Joshua out of the tent.

The sounds of the jet engine grew louder as the plane made its descent onto the LAX Airport runway. The thunder rumbling across the sky could barely be heard as the pilot's voice came over the loudspeaker and told them to buckle their seatbelts and it was going to be a rough landing.

"Joy," Sam muttered as he fumbled with his seatbelt. His leg was throbbing and his head ached from where he had slammed it into the cargo hold trying to fold his long body into the tiny airplane seat. Dean had done him a service by not laughing at him as the elder did the same thing.

"Damn airplanes," Dean had muttered.

Sam would have been more amused by the fact that Dean had a deathly fear of planes if he hadn't fallen asleep due to the pain meds Joshua had given him ten minutes after they took off. Sam was more than thankful for them now when he realized how bad the turbulence had been due to the thunderstorm brewing right outside of Los Angeles.

"I fucking hate flying," Dean muttered from beside Sam. The elder man clutched at the arm rest as the plane skidded to a stop on the slick runway.

"We're home," Sam murmured, looking out into the stormy afternoon. "I can't believe it."

"You can have your epiphany later, after I get off this damn plane," Dean growled, sighing loudly with relief as the _fasten seatbelts_ sign went off and the pilot announced that they could begin departing the plane.

"Sam, you want a wheelchair? One of the attendants said that she could find you one," Joshua offered, helping Sam into a standing position.

"I'll walk," Sam said, a little more sharply than he meant to. He instantly felt guilty, but refused the help offered to him from both Dean and Joshua as he made his way to the front of the plane.

_Curse those idjits who put us in the back of this damned plane_, he thought grouchily as he made his way down the steps slowly. He was grateful when Dean placed a steadying hand on his shoulder when he nearly slipped on the slick stairwell.

"Just let Whitely get you a damned wheelchair," he said.

Sam stubbornly shook his head as he shifted his weight.

"No," he said. "I'll walk."

He made it about two steps before he nearly fell. If it hadn't been for Dean standing right there, he would have done a face plant.

"You're a wimp, you know that?" Dean asked a teasing glint in his eyes as he pulls one of Sam's arms around his shoulders. "And a stubborn jackass."

"You're a jerk, you know that?" Sam asked, relieved that Dean was helping him. He would never have admitted it, but he knew he wouldn't have made it to the terminal by himself.

"Whatever bitch," Dean said, grinning now. "You ready to go home?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Take it slow," Joshua warned. "Just because you're home doesn't mean you need to be in any speed races. Jess will still be there when you get inside, I promise."

Jessica. Sam's heartbeat sped up as he thought of her. He needed to find her, hold her in her arms, to be certain that this whole thing wasn't a dream. That he wasn't back in that hellhole he used to call home.

The doors to the terminal swung open and Sam limped inside, leaning heavily on Dean as he did so. His leg ached with the effort of putting his weight on it, but he refused to sit in that damned wheelchair. Jess deserved better. She didn't need a broken man coming home to her. She needed him whole, and that meant sucking up the pain and dealing with it.

"Dude, you're heavy," Dean complained. Beside him, Joshua chuckled and Dean threw him a dirty look. Sam would never know how those two went from barely talking to each other to being the best of friends with the way they constantly bickered. They had done it the entire ride to the airport and on the plane, before Sam had zonked out.

Sam was past caring, however. Everything seemed to fade away the second he spotted her blonde hair in the terminal. He instinctively stopped.

"Sam?"

Dean's concerned voice barely registered. He only had eyes for _her._

She was standing by herself, looking anxiously around the terminal. Her wavy blonde hair was brushed back into a ponytail. She was wearing a simple sweatshirt and jeans, but to Sam, she had never looked more beautiful as she did right now.

"Dean, I think I can take it from here," he said, shrugging off Dean's arm. He ignored the anxious look from his friend and heard Joshua mutter something to Dean, before he was limping as best he could towards her.

Dean felt someone tap him on the shoulder and turned around. He noticed that Joshua had disappeared, probably to find his wife and son, but suddenly he didn't care. There was woman standing behind him, her warm brown eyes lighting up when they met his. Her dark face broke into a perfect smile.

"Cassie?" he whispered as the woman threw her arms around him.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered in his ear. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered back, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. "I love you so much."

Joshua rested his head on a small frizzy haired woman's head. She had been standing next to the windows, looking anxiously for him, just as he knew she would be. He couldn't believe that he was finally here, holding her in his arms.

"I love you, Marianne," he whispered. "I never want to leave you or Jason ever again."

"You better not," Marianne said, tears sliding out of her beautiful brown eyes as she looked up at him. "Or I'm running off with the milkman for good this time."

Joshua laughed as he leaned down and kissed her.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

Her back was turned to him as he approached. Sam couldn't help the smile that graced his features as he tapped her on her shoulder.

"You looking for someone, there, miss?" Sam asked, his smile turning into a full blown grin as she spun around to face him, her eyes widening.

"Sam!" she shrieked, throwing her arms around him. Sam didn't care about the pain that the hug was causing him, he didn't care about the fact that he was about to fall over, and he didn't care about the fact that his father was standing a few feet away, an emotionless expression on his face. He was in Jess's arms, and he was home at last.


End file.
